


Darkest Before the Dawn

by Phoenix_Soar



Series: Scattering Stars Like Dust [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, In a sense, Incubus/Succubus Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Porn With Plot, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25952785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: It stands to reason that the Serpent of Eden - the original tempter - is a Demon of Lust. When he comes across a very interesting Angel in the Garden, it is not long before he decides that he absolutely must have him.And if that means planting little seeds of doubt and desire in Aziraphale’s mind and body, Crowley doesn’t mind as long as he gets to reap the rewards. (And they are bountiful, indeed.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Scattering Stars Like Dust [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762345
Comments: 159
Kudos: 289
Collections: British Angels and Demons, Dark Crowley





	1. ripe for the plucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is not explicitly an incubus/succubus here, but his main MO is tempting humans - and one Angel - into Lust. Though he is not as dark as some of the dark!Crowley works I’ve seen out there, keep in mind this is _not_ the sweetheart we know and love from the book and show.
> 
>  **Note on sexual content:** Sex is prevalent throughout this fic. It’s tagged top!Crowley and bottom!Aziraphale bc ~~I love my pillow principality~~ that's their main dynamic. But they swap genitals and/or switch here and there.
> 
>  **Warning:** Please mind the tags! I might very loosely call this a love story told through sex, but it is _not_ a healthy relationship for the most part. No rape or non-con, but there is emotional manipulation and some dubious consent. I do not condone any of the questionable actions that take place here.

The thing about Lust is that it does not refer to copulation in and of itself. That’s the Almighty’s intended natural mechanism for human reproduction after all.

Rather, the Deadly Sin lies with carnal temptations that lead people astray, inspiring depravity, promiscuity, infidelity and other ugly inclinations that corrupt the human heart.

The Serpent that crawls out of the boiling sulphur after the Fall emerges as a Demon of Lust. It stands to reason then that he is the one tasked with carrying out the original Temptation.

Tempt the humans to not only the Knowledge of Right and Wrong, he is ordered, but sow the seeds of Lust within them that it may be passed down.

It’s his job now, so Crawly shrugs and nods to Beelzebub.

He burrows up into the Garden, sheds his serpentine skin and, nude as the two humans within, gets to work.

Before the apple is ripe for the plucking, the seed has to be planted.

Crawly waits until the two humans are separated, as they sometimes are during their explorations of Eden’s endless bounty. He approaches the man first.

It’s almost too easy. The man is newly minted and innocent; malleable. It takes next to nothing to have him submit to Crawly, gasping as the Demon pushes him to the ground and takes him inside his cunt.

Being what he is, what needs to be done to incite pleasures of the flesh comes naturally to Crawly. And he quickly learns that he greatly enjoys it; he has always been a hands-on kind of being*.

(* A quality left over from his days as a star-maker. Meaningless memories now.)

When he is done, he wipes the man’s memory and leaves him behind in the grass. He hunts down the woman.

She is slightly harder to lure, her dark eyes intelligent and wary, and Crawly immediately knows which of the two he will tempt to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. But first things first.

She takes a little longer to fall to the Demon’s thrall, but soon enough, Crawly has her writhing under him, crying out at her first taste of sexual pleasure.

It is then that the Serpent of Eden sees the Guardian of the Eastern Gate for the first time. Crawly senses him moments before the Angel emerges through a thicket up ahead, and his first instinct is to flee for cover.

But then their eyes meet, amber and sapphire, and the Angel stops in his tracks, time slowing down to a tense trickle.

The glow of sunshine makes his already fair hair near-blinding, as white as the pristine robes that hang loosely about his human form. His eyes, intelligent but anxious, take in the scene and immediately _knows_ , bringing the rosiest blush to his round cheeks. He has a sword, long and flaming, gripped in his right hand.

The Angel is _lovely_.

Lovely and shocked and at a loss for what to do. In the end, he does nothing, frozen by the trees as he watches his charge get fucked by a Demon.

The woman is falling apart, now clawing at Crawly’s back, but right then, he has eyes for no one but the Angel. Crawly looks right at him as he drives into the woman one last time, and the trees resound with her scream of euphoria.

His job done, Crawly wipes her memory, whispers a few choice words in her ear, and watches as she heads to the Tree. When he looks around, the Angel has disappeared.

Crawly waits until the two humans fall into each other’s arms. Neither of them will ever remember their trysts with a Demon. To their knowledge, they are the first in every sense.

But now, every child born to the race of humans will carry the seed of Lust within their very essence. Some will fall to temptation, some will not. Some will be tempted by Crawly himself, and some will find their way to their own destruction.

Crawly pulls on his black robes and leaves the humans to it.

He has an Angel to find.

~***~

The Angel’s name is Aziraphale and he is as strange as he is lovely.

Crawly doesn’t approach him until the humans are cast out and the Angel is watching them go from atop the Wall, anxious and fretting. He is wary of Crawly, perhaps warier still after having witnessed what the Demon had done.

But he addresses Crawly politely and doesn't try to smite him. Most unlike his kind.

Then, within the span of mere minutes, he blurts out that he gave away his sword - the flaming weapon entrusted unto him by the Almighty Herself - just to provide a pair of disgraced humans with a modicum of protection.

 _Well, now._ Crawly stares at him. He files away the information for later.

If Crawly had thought that was the extent of how surprising he’d find this Angel, he is corrected on his presumption almost immediately. Her newest invention begins to pelt down on them in earnest, and Aziraphale shields Crawly with his wing seemingly without a second thought.

Crawly is startled. The Angel’s gesture is intimate and protective - and offered unconditionally to his Enemy.

 _What an interesting little morsel_ , Crawly muses, side-eyeing him.

And a right morsel he is too, as the rain is swiftly making it clear. The Angel’s clothes are soaking through, clinging to a body that is now revealed to be plump and pleasingly round.

Like an apple, Crawly thinks, glutting himself on the pale flushed skin that is being exposed through the increasingly translucent robes. Crawly imagines sinking into that body, with his teeth, his nails, his cock. He wonders what the Angel will taste like, sound like, _feel_ like.

When Aziraphale catches him looking, Crawly doesn’t turn away, unrepentant and shameless.

The Angel says nothing but his cheeks are flushed, his human body reacting to Crawly’s attention. The Demon observes it all with bubbling pleasure.

Long after the humans and the flickering of the flaming sword have disappeared over the dunes, Aziraphale returns to the Garden. Crawly follows him and, again, the Angel neither comments nor shoos the Demon off.

He finds out why when they come across a large tree, under whose canopy the humans apparently used to sleep often.

'It will be so very lonely here again, without them,’ the Angel murmurs, his voice full of sorrow.

‘You get lonely?’ Crawly asks, somewhat surprised.

‘Well, there’s no one else around, is there?’ Aziraphale frowns, as if he is not in the company of another right now.

‘Aren’t you returning to Heaven?’ Crawly points out. ‘Plenty of company then.’ _With your own kind_.

‘I haven’t been instructed to return yet,’ Aziraphale says primly. Then he sighs, so low it must be to himself: ‘It’s not any less lonely Up There.’

Crawly raises an eyebrow. He files away that piece of information as well.

~***~

Over the next few days, Aziraphale continues to hang about the Garden, looking a little lost and anxious. Crawly is starting to think he is always like that.

Crawly stays back too, because Earth is more interesting than Hell anyway, and he wants to explore what he can before he is recalled.

They run into each other occasionally, exchanging nods and curt greetings as they go about their own roaming. But his own company is entertaining for only so long and, on the seventh day after the humans were banished, Crawly seeks out the Angel again.

He finds him sitting in the shade by a rock pool, enjoying a fruit Crawly doesn’t recognise. Crawly later learns it is a pomegranate.

Crawly joins him without asking or waiting for an invitation. Aziraphale tenses at the Demon’s proximity when their folded legs brush together, but he doesn’t send Crawly away. He even offers to share the fruit and Crawly nearly gives a disbelieving laugh. It is almost as if the Angel is soliciting an attack from his Adversary, making himself open and vulnerable to Crawly.

He declines the offer and doesn’t miss the mild disappointment on Aziraphale’s face. An intriguing little thing, indeed.

Aziraphale returns to picking out the soft arils inside the halved fruit. Crawly can’t keep his eyes off the Angel, watching the way his lips, glistening red with pomegranate juice, close over his fingertips as he carefully pops small handfuls of the seeds. With each bite, the Angel’s eyelids flutter shut, soft sounds of pleasure escaping his lips as he savours the taste.

Crawly can feel his own hunger beginning to gnaw at him, but it has little to do with the fleshy fruit clutched in the Angel’s sticky hand. Aziraphale, whether conscious of his actions or not, is a downright tease and Crawly vaguely muses he’d make a fine Demon.

‘It’s my last day here,’ Aziraphale starts the conversation, apropos of nothing. ‘Tomorrow I am to leave Eden and follow the humans, to watch over and guide them.’

Crawly hums noncommittally. Now this is even more interesting, to be sure. Aziraphale has just offered him information about his own celestial work. Crawly has done nothing to prompt him, save for offering the Angel his company.

Crawly recalls what the Angel had said earlier about loneliness. He wonders if Aziraphale would spill Heaven’s secrets, with nothing but a little interest and attention from someone. Even if that someone were a Demon.

Wouldn't that be something, Crawly muses, watching the Angel. _Definitely someone to keep close_.

Crawly doesn't offer the news that _he_ has also been permanently assigned to Earth, as Hell’s field agent. Aziraphale will find that out soon enough. Crawly rather anticipates his surprise.

Instead, he asks the question that has been burning inside him from the moment he laid eyes on the Angel.

‘Why didn’t you smite me back then?’

Aziraphale understands the context immediately.

‘I thought about it,’ he admits, lowering the pomegranate. ‘But I was instructed not to interfere with anything that happened in Eden.’

‘Is that so? Almost sounds like the Almighty meant for it to happen, eh? Humans falling to temptation.’ Crawly is amused. It’s just like Her, moving about in Her mysterious ways and whatnot.

‘For what it’s worth, I was following instructions, too. With the apple and all,’ Crawly continues conversationally.

‘And I suppose the _other_ thing was part of your instructions, too?’ Aziraphale says, his tone suddenly sharp and disapproving.

‘What thing?’ Crawly asks innocently.

‘You … you were mating with her!’ The Angel’s voice has gone shrill. ‘Humans are only meant to mate with each other.’

‘Mating is a stretch,’ drawls Crawly, lips twitching. ‘It’s not like I put some hybrid Demon in her belly.’

‘Then what were you doing?’

Crawly leers at him. ‘Showing them a good time.’

‘You - with _both_ of them?!’ Aziraphale looks all sorts of horrified and scandalised.

Crawly begins to laugh. He turns to face Aziraphale fully, deliberately looking him up and down. ‘I can show you, too,’ he offers, lowering his voice, ‘if you’d like.’

To no one’s surprise, Aziraphale begins to protest, his whole face flaming red.

‘Have you ever tried?’ Crawly presses on. ‘Pleasuring yourself?’

‘Why would I?’ Aziraphale blusters.

‘You were issued a human body and you haven’t even tried it out?’ Crawly snickers.

‘You’re trying to tempt me,’ Aziraphale says shrewdly, narrowing his eyes. ‘To carnal pleasures, like you did with them.’

Crawly rolls his eyes. ‘You don’t need to fuck someone to find pleasure. Your body is equipped to do it by itself. All you need is to … explore.’

Figuring a demonstration will serve better than words the Angel will not listen to, Crawly leans back and pulls up the hem of his robes. Baring himself, he feels about as much shame as the humans did about nudity before they ate from the Tree.

Aziraphale stares, jaw slack, as Crawly grasps the effort he’s kept ever since he fucked the woman. His blue eyes follow the movement of the Demon’s hand up and down his long thick cock, blushing but entranced.

‘Go on,’ Crawly encourages him breathily, slicking his hand with a thought as he thumbs at his head. ‘Now you try on yourself. Swear it feels good.’

There is still hesitation on Aziraphale’s face, but he truly is unlike the rest of his brethren. There is a curious fire to him that makes him both vulnerable and dangerous, one that sparks him into finally hitching up his own robes.

Crawly tightens his grip on himself, greedily eating up the naked skin suddenly offered to his eyes. The Angel’s legs, dusted with downy blond hair, are so thick Crawly wants to bite them, and he has a roll of fat around his plump hips that makes Crawly’s hands itch.

 _Soft_ , Crawly thinks as he continues to stroke himself.

The skin between the Angel’s legs has a thatch of blond curls but is otherwise featureless. Until Aziraphale glances shyly over at Crawly’s cock again before he makes up his mind. His mound shifts in appearance and a slit appears below, framed by plump lips with a pronounced hood at the top.

Crawly’s prick reaches full hardness in his hand, bordering on painful. Breathing hard from arousal, he wonders about Aziraphale’s choice of a cunt - whether it’s a blatant invitation for Crawly or the Angel just wanted complementary genitals based on the first two humans’.

‘Great effort,’ Crawly rasps. ‘Now touch it, stroke it…’

He coaxes the Angel with gentle words, guiding him to explore the frankly delectable-looking pussy he has given himself. Crawly tries not to buck into his fist as he gets Aziraphale to tease over his folds and then spread his lips open, revealing his pink entrance. The very sight of it nearly makes him come.

Under Crawly’s eye, the Angel dubiously touches himself. Clutching his pomegranate in one hand, he traces the inner walls of his lips with the other before moving up to press on his clit. The little bud is nearly hidden under his hood, nowhere near swollen to full perkiness, and Aziraphale prods harder, frowning.

‘How’s it feel?’ Crawly asks.

Aziraphale keeps rubbing. ‘Almost painful,’ he says, sounding both unimpressed and frustrated. ‘Dry and chafing, like.’

That gives Crawly pause. Aziraphale’s cunt does look dry. He’d assumed the Angel got wet when Crawly made him tease himself before reaching his clit, but…

‘It’s as if,’ Aziraphale says then, ‘there is pleasure underneath but I - I can’t reach it.’

 _Ah_.

‘Here, let me.’ And to Aziraphale’s surprise, Crawly abruptly pushes the Angel down onto his back, settling between his legs.

‘Wh-what are you doing?’ Aziraphale gasps, his voice high with panic.

Crawly shushes him, spreading his legs further. ‘Making you feel good,’ he promises and then dives in.

Aziraphale is a veritable feast to say the least, and Crawly, who has been salivating from the first day, makes sure to relish him and relish him well.

He nuzzles the insides of his thighs, breathing in the heady scent of the Angel’s soft skin before taking that long-awaited bite. Aziraphale yelps, whether in surprise or pain Crawly doesn’t know; he soothes the skin with his tongue before leaving another biting kiss on that luscious thigh.

‘Wait, what - what are you…’ Aziraphale trails off, starting to breathe hard as Crawly leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses on the insides of his thighs, nipping at the soft flesh as he makes his way in. The Angel tenses just as it becomes apparent where Crawly’s mouth will land next, but his words - whatever they may have been - disappear in a gurgle of incoherent sounds when the Demon’s tongue drags over his folds, right over his core from bottom to top.

With a hum, Crawly repeats the move, tonguing at Aziraphale’s plump folds before spreading them open with his fingers. The scent of the Angel’s arousal heightens tenfold, making Crawly nearly dizzy with it. He kisses along the lips, smugly pleased when Aziraphale whines and squirms every time Crawly sucks the folds into his mouth.

The Angel is a right mess of helpless sounds before Crawly even dips his tongue inside him. He gives long licks along the insides of his lips, wetting the Angel everywhere except on his clit. Aziraphale is trying to buck his hips but Crawly holds him down firmly, satisfied to finally see slick pooling inside his entrance.

Slyly, Crawly slides his tongue in and moans at the sharp burst of salty-sweet flavour.

‘Fuck, I knew you’d taste amazing,’ he rasps before diving back in, making the Angel howl as a tongue, longer than any human tongue has a right to be, breaches his virginal entrance.

The Angel is tight and hot and delicious around him, and Crawly can’t resist fucking him with his tongue a few times before finally laving up to his neglected clit.

The sound Aziraphale makes at the first touch of Crawly’s tongue there is downright sizzling. The nub is swollen and protruding from under its hood at last. Aziraphale moans as Crawly dribbles spit on him before flicking his tongue, swift and relentless, over his clit.

‘Aaah, ahh, oh, I - I can’t -’ Aziraphale is sobbing, his whole body trembling. ‘I feel -’

Crawly hums encouragingly, dipping his tongue inside the Angel’s cunt again to smear more of his juices over his clit.

’S-stop, wait, some - something’s happening,’ Aziraphale pants. ‘There’s some - it’s … ohh, it’s- it’s building … ah, ah, inside me …’

‘It’s supposed to,’ Crawly pulls off to hiss. ‘Just let go.’

He sucks the Angel’s clit into his mouth and that’s all it takes. Completely overcome, Aziraphale wails at the sky as his cunt pulses with his first orgasm. His thighs close around Crawly’s head, but the Demon doesn’t relent, suckling his clit mercilessly to draw out Aziraphale’s pleasure for as long as possible.

Crawly’s mouth and chin are dripping by the time Aziraphale goes boneless. He wipes his face clean and then licks the juices off his hand, leaning over the prone Angel who is still shivering, eyes closed and panting.

‘Told you it’d feel good,’ Crawly says with a smile. He carefully slides two fingers through Aziraphale’s dripping folds, pleased to hear the Angel whimper.

‘I can make you feel even better,’ Crawly murmurs, teasing at his clit. ‘Fill up your sweet, wet cunt with my cock and make you come,’ Crawly grasps his prick, rock hard and aching now, ‘over and over and over again until you can’t walk from the pleasure of it.’ He slides his cock between the Angel’s wet labia, dragging the head teasingly from his clit to his slick entrance and then again. ‘Would you like that?’

Aziraphale opens his eyes, the blissful haze from his orgasm dissipating.

‘Wait, no - you!’ Aziraphale pushes at Crawly’s chest, shoving him off with unexpected strength.

‘What are you trying to do to me, foul fiend?’ The Angel shouts, looking shaken as he scrambles back to put distance between them. He covers himself up with his robes. ‘I will _not_ fall for your temptations!’

Crawly can read a situation gone awry. He waves away his erection - somewhat regretfully - and holds up his hands in surrender.

‘Hey, hey, I'm not trying to do anything. If you don’t want to, we won’t … but the offer still stands.’

‘You can keep your offer,’ Aziraphale snaps with a distrusting glare.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crawly says beseechingly. ‘Look, I’m just trying to get off on the right foot with you here. With the humans, yeah, that was just orders. But with you, I’m just trying to be companionable.’

‘Companionable,’ Aziraphale repeats, looking torn between disbelief and anger.

‘There is nothing wrong with two companions lending each other a hand and giving pleasure, is there?’

Aziraphale folds his arms protectively across his chest. ‘And what makes you think you’re my companion?’

‘Who else is around?’ Crawly points out reasonably. He covers his legs with his robes and hugs them to his chest, the pose just relaxed and vulnerable enough.

‘Wouldn’t you rather have someone than nobody at all?’

Aziraphale looks quickly at him, his blue eyes wide and surprised.

Crawly gives him a friendly smile.

 _Gotcha_.

~***~

Crawly has used the first piece of information he found out about Aziraphale on the Angel himself. The results are exemplary.

After leaving Eden, Crawly bides his time before putting another piece of information to use.

Crawly supposes it had been sweet of Aziraphale, to do what he did. Definitely unique, because no other angel would have done it.

It was sweet but also laughably _naive_. He had given humans their first weapon.

Long after the Garden has been left behind, Crawly mingles with the growing family who is making a home on this new planet of theirs. He nonchalantly brings the topic of conversation to the flaming sword that continues to protect them from the wilderness.

‘Skewered a lion with that sword, huh?’ He gasps with morbid fascination. ‘Imagine what that thing can do to a human.’

Years later, when Abel lies bleeding out at Cain’s feet, Crawly leans comfortingly into Aziraphale’s side.

The Angel is near tears, his horror like a shadow cast upon the sun. ‘How could this have happened?’

Crawly grazes his fingertips over the back of Aziraphale’s shaking hand.

‘Humans make choices, angel. You don’t have power over their free will.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _meant_ to write an Ineffable Idiots fic or more fluffy smut for my 'Wicked Thing' series, but this idea hit me like a fever dream and I've been writing this fic obsessively for the past couple of days.  
> The whole story is basically written already, I just need to flesh it out and edit - so this will most likely be updated daily.
> 
> Yeah, this is a wild left turn away from my usual stuff, so I’m a bit nervous. I would love to hear what you guys think!  
> You can also reach me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	2. sunlight glinting off snowdrops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In fleshing out the chapters I'd roughly written, they're all turning out to be much longer than my first outline/drafts. So chapter count is subject to change ~~oh look it has already begun~~
> 
> Y'all know the drill from the first chapter, yes? **Mind the tags!** Manipulative behaviour and dubcon ahead.

Over the next millennium, Crawly watches the humans multiply and spread out across an ever-changing world, where mountains covered in green reach for the sky and the lands plunge to make way for oceans.

He walks among the humans, making acquaintance with the more fascinating ones, inciting lust among the more susceptible ones, and tempting, always tempting, all of them.

Humans are fun to observe and converse with, and it’s not a hardship to fuck the ones he is ordered to. And the ones he is not ordered to*.

(* Hell only specifically orders seductions for important souls they want to secure away from Heaven.

As for the other humans Crawly lures into his bed, it’s simply a bonus if he ends up winning their souls for his side as well. A good number can earn him a commendation. But even otherwise, he gets a hell of a good time out of it anyway.)

What Crawly looks forward to most, however, are the glimpses of a head of white curls among them, to which he is immediately drawn.

Aziraphale sticks out like a sore thumb, partly because of his unmistakeable celestial aura, and partly because it takes a good while for humankind to grow diverse enough for fair hair to emerge among them.

Still, none of them attains _this_ particular shade of sunlight glinting off snowdrops.

During the first thousand years, the world is sparsely populated that they encounter each other frequently. Every time, Crawly saunters over with a wide grin and Aziraphale, hesitant but with typical civility, returns his greetings.

Crawly doesn’t mind, because the hesitation usually melts away when he engages the Angel in conversation. Aziraphale is immediately interested then, talking animatedly about the odd little humans and their efforts to figure out the Earth, and Crawly ponders on the Angel’s desire for companionship to chase away loneliness.

They don’t discuss again the pleasures of the flesh; they haven’t since the Garden. Crawly very much wants to, but whenever he steers the topic even remotely in that direction, Aziraphale tenses up.

The time Crawly throws caution to the wind and blatantly brings it up, Aziraphale rounds on him.

‘Enough!’ he snaps, his tone uncharacteristically steely. ‘You will drop this at once, Crawly. It won’t work. I refuse to Fall to your temptations.’

‘All right, all right.’ Crawly backs off.

Aziraphale’s words get him thinking. _I refuse to Fall_.

In fairness, all this time Crawly has only been thinking about the Angel’s pretty little cunt and how it would feel wrapped around his cock. He hasn’t been thinking about making the Angel _Fall_ \- although if he did, that would probably entail an enormous promotion. He might even make it to Duke* in one go.

(* Hastur and Ligur would throw fucking tantrums. The thought makes Crawly snigger.)

It would definitely be in Crawly’s favour. He idly wonders if seducing an Angel to Lust would be enough to damn him. He’s not sure.

Frankly, he’s not all that bothered by it. As long as he gets to have that sweet fuck first, Crawly thinks as he discreetly eyes the Angel’s plump bottom, irritatingly hidden under his voluminous clothes.

There is no point in pushing Aziraphale, however. Coercion is never worth the trouble, not when it isn’t half as rewarding as having someone throw themselves into his arms.

Crawly is a patient thing. He can wait.

And Aziraphale may be wary of him, but he is lonely. Crawly can work with that.

So he gives the Angel what he craves: attention and company, and little by little, Aziraphale’s smiles begin to lose their tightness around him. He begins to initiate conversations more, hold Crawly’s gaze for longer, laugh louder at his jokes, and sit a little closer.

The Demon changes his name to something that isn’t so _squirming-at-your-feet-ish_ and Aziraphale tries it, rolling the name _Crowley_ carefully on his tongue. His ensuing smile indicates that he likes it.

The Angel is thawing out, and with their every meeting, he looks happier to see Crowley there.

It becomes increasingly apparent that Aziraphale is developing an attachment to him. At times Crowley is able to tease tidbits about Heaven or celestial assignments out of Aziraphale. In these early days, most of the details are not groundbreaking, but Crowley knows it’s a good investment that will pay out in the long run*.

(* If Crowley plays his cards right, who knows - the rewards may include angel pussy.)

Aziraphale is useful to have around and it’s not like he is tedious company either. Crowley finds he doesn’t mind their conversations, where Aziraphale sometimes offers fascinating perspectives on humans, or their views clash garishly leading to colourful arguments and bickering.

Crowley rolls his eyes at the stick up Heaven’s arse and Aziraphale looks down his nose at Hell’s depravity.

But when it’s time to say farewell, they do so on good terms, and Crowley can see Aziraphale’s increasing sadness with every parting.

The Angel wants him around.

Crowley feeds him smiles and saccharine words, and soaks in the attention.

~***~

An instance when the acquaintanceship Crowley is painstakingly building with Aziraphale really pays off happens about a thousand years into their earthly field assignments.

An anxious Aziraphale tips Crowley off about the impending flood and where to find the ark, an unpleasant surprise Crowley would’ve otherwise been unprepared for. No doubt Heaven has been hoping for some demonic discorporations alongside the humans sentenced to death by drowning.

Crowley is saved, especially from what might’ve amounted to decades of paperwork. That doesn’t stop him from letting the Angel know his exact opinion about this new divine punishment.

Aziraphale is clearly agitated by the points Crowley makes.

‘You cannot judge the Almighty, Crowley!’ he insists, his tone firm and imperious, but there are cracks of doubt marring his righteous mask.

Crowley can see it, especially when he emphatically brings up the _children_. Aziraphale knows Crowley is right, but he won’t admit to his despair and uncertainties. Not yet.

Crowley realises the extent to which he has perturbed Aziraphale when the Angel goes out of his way to avoid him later.

With the world drowned, there is nowhere else to stay but on the ark; and inside the vessel, options are no less limited. They cannot be with the humans in their quarters, and staying out on the deck or roof means constantly using up miracles to ward off the rain.

That leaves them the barn. With one of the dumb unicorns gone, there is a spare stall in the stables, which Crowley and Aziraphale claim as their temporary abode.

Though it’s a stretch to call it _theirs_ because the Angel is hardly around. He’s made his excuses to Crowley, mumbling about the need to spread blessings during such a difficult time.

A month into the flood and Crowley has barely seen him, the Angel running around - presumably invisible - to help soothe the animals, bless the humans and whatever else he can dredge up to stay away from the Demon.

Well, two can play at this game. Neither of them are on assignment and it seems unfair that there be an abundance of blessings without temptations to balance the scale.

So Crowley starts nipping out to do what he does best.

He starts out with amusing little tricks. In such close quarters and extreme circumstances, it’s a breeze to get tempers running high or imply foul play on food rations. But inducing Wrath and Greed entertains him for only so long.

He whispers lustful fantasies in a youth’s ear and smirks when the young man, trying to hide his arousal, runs out into the rain to cool off.

He lures a girl who has just reached marriageable age into a dark corner. Caught in the Demon’s thrall, she doesn’t question his presence and lets him bend her over a stool. Later, she is overcome with shame and guilt, which really has less to do with infernal influence and more with humans tying ‘honour’ and ‘dignity’ to the concept of chastity.

He is not surprised that it is his temptations that finally gets to Aziraphale. Crowley is snogging one of the married women against a wall outside, preparing to fuck her in the rain when the Angel rudely interrupts with a near-smiting.

‘Leave her alone!’ Aziraphale pulls the Demon off her with the surprising strength Crowley now knows he possesses.

In a matter of moments, the Angel has wiped the woman’s memory and dragged Crowley back into the barn.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Aziraphale rounds on him the instant they enter their stall.

Crowley leans against the wall, drying himself with a snap. ‘Doing what I was sent up here to do,’ he says with a shrug.

‘You’re sowing discord and infidelity among them!’ Aziraphale shouts. ‘They have enough to deal with, stuck out here in a storm in this never-ending sea.’

Crowley raises an eyebrow. ‘And whose fault is that?’

The Angel’s jaw drops. ‘I didn’t bring any of this about!’

‘No. Your lot did. And you did nothing to stop it.’

‘I’m not consulted on policy decisions,’ says Aziraphale, stung.

‘Then don’t blame me for doing my work when Heaven’s the one dishing out collective punishment.’

Aziraphale is trembling, his hands fisted by his sides. ‘And you? You’re just going to spread lust among the few humans left?’

Crowley scoffs. ‘What, that woman back there? I was just showing her how it feels to be really taken care of. If you hadn’t interrupted, she would’ve left her abusive excuse of a husband.’

‘So it’s my fault again?’ Aziraphale snaps.

‘I didn’t say that,’ says Crowley with a long suffering sigh. He gives Aziraphale a once-over. ‘You’ve never touched yourself again, have you? Since the Garden?’

The Angel looks thrown. ‘W-what does that have to do with anything?’ he mutters, his cheeks, already flushed from anger, reddening further.

Crowley pulls away from the wall and advances on the Angel. Aziraphale recoils.

’You seem to think pleasure in itself is a bad thing.’

‘Lust is a sin.’ Aziraphale says firmly even as he continues to back away.

‘I’m not talking about Lust,’ says Crowley with exaggerated patience. ‘I’m talking about pleasing one’s body, finding satisfaction by dispelling all that pent up stress and tension. Are you telling me that’s a bad thing?’

The Angel’s calves hit the pile of hay at the back of the stall. He looks nervously at Crowley, who stops a mere foot away, trapping Aziraphale in.

When there is nothing but silence, Crowley says pointedly, ‘Riddle me this, then. If it’s all so _wicked_ , why didn’t your wings burn up the moment you had my mouth on your pussy?’

Aziraphale gapes at him, shocked.

Crowley smiles triumphantly. ‘You submitted yourself to the pleasure _I_ gave you. Your body _begged_ for it, begged until you came in my mouth. Why are you not Fallen, then?’

Aziraphale looks lost, his breath leaving him shakily.

‘Perhaps some things are a little grey, have you thought of that?’ Crowley moves closer, letting his fingertips graze over the Angel’s hips.

Gasping, Aziraphale tries to backtrack and nearly stumbles into the hay. Only Crowley’s arms, now tight about his waist, keep him from falling. The Demon heaves him forward, pulling Aziraphale flush against him, the Angel’s hands grabbing at his upper arms.

‘You remember that day, don’t you,’ he murmurs, the two of them so close his breath washes over Aziraphale’s parted lips. ‘Just how _good_ it felt,’ he slips a hand between their bodies to cup the Angel over his tunic, ‘to be touched _just right_?’

Aziraphale starts, his fingers tightening in Crowley’s sleeves. ‘Crowley!’

The Demon raises his eyebrows. ‘You don’t want it? Then why are you already wearing a cunt?’

He sees it then, the fire dimming in Aziraphale’s eyes. His shoulders slump, defeated.

Crowley grins in victory. ‘Let me make you feel good, angel…’ he croons, brushing his nose against Aziraphale’s. ‘Just take your mind off everything for a little while. There’s nothing either of us can do until the waters subside. But we can help each other for now, hmm?’

This time, Aziraphale lets Crowley lower him into the hay, pressed down onto his back with a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

‘You’re so tense,’ Crowley murmurs, nudging Aziraphale’s legs open to kneel between them. ‘Just relax, angel. It’s like the food you enjoy so much, yeah?’ Inspired, Crowley miracles over a pomegranate from the humans’ stash. He presses it into Aziraphale’s hand. ‘Eating brings you joy and pleasure, doesn’t it? This isn’t all that different.’

Aziraphale cradles the pomegranate in his hands, looking uncertainly at Crowley. ‘So I just eat this and touch myself?’

‘Or you eat that and let _me_ enjoy _my_ meal.’ Crowley pushes up Aziraphale’s robes and heaves his thighs over his shoulders, startling a gasp from the Angel.

Meeting his wide blue eyes, he whispers encouragingly, ‘Go on, then. Take a bite.’

With shaking fingers, Aziraphale halves the fruit and picks out a few arils. He pops them carefully into his mouth.

‘Yeah, that’s it, angel. It’s sweet, isn’t it … sweet and addicting, just like you.’

Aziraphale quickly looks up but Crowley has already started on his feast. Crowley hums wantonly as the Angel’s labia parts under his tongue and that familiar taste, which has been haunting him for a thousand years, washes over him anew.

Fuck, he has been _starved_ of this.

The helpless sounds Aziraphale makes as Crowley explores and teases him are as enticing as that fateful day in the Garden. The Angel is supine and quivering in the hay, the two halves of the pomegranate steadily crushed in his clenching fists to drip red liquid over his wrists and sleeves.

On a whim, Crowley takes one half and drags the fleshy fruit over the Angel’s cunt, soaking his folds in the red juice and smearing crushed arils everywhere. Aziraphale’s hips jump in surprise, but Crowley holds him down, meeting heated blue eyes as he slowly licks the sour-sweet liquidand pulp off his cunt.

Crowley laves his way up to Aziraphale’s clit, which twitches and throbs against his tongue. Crushed arils are smeared around the swollen nub too and Crowley eagerly sucks every single seed into his mouth, making the Angel pant at the repeated suction on his oversensitive bud.

‘Deliciousss,’ Crowley hisses, flicking Aziraphale with his tongue. ‘But nowhere near as addicting as the taste of _pure angel_.’ He suckles at Aziraphale’s clit again, enjoying the way the Angel arches his back, moaning unrestrainedly.

He is oozing slick now, the scent of his arousal thick in the air. As his juices drip over his folds, Crowley can see his entrance clenching desperately around nothing. Returning his mouth to Aziraphale’s clit, Crowley presses the tip of his middle finger to the Angel’s slick hole and presses in.

The Angel cries out, his free hand abruptly grabbing on to Crowley’s long hair; and Crowley remembers Aziraphale has only ever known the feeling of his tongue inside him before. Smirking at the thought, Crowley carefully moves his hand, sliding his finger in and out of the Angel’s slippery cunt until it relaxes enough to take another one.

The fit is tight this time, so much that Crowley feels a little delirious at the fantasy of having that tight heat sucking his cock inside.

_One day_ , Crowley vows and crooks his fingers, lapping at his clit as he steadily fucks Aziraphale open, faster and faster until he finds the sweet spot that has the Angel screaming his release.

‘I think you spooked the animals,’ Crowley drawls, amused.

Aziraphale looks blearily up at him, spread out on the hay and beautifully fucked out. Crowley’s prick aches at the sight.

‘Feel better?’

Aziraphale is able to speak at last, ‘I … think I do … a little bit.’

Crowley settles down beside him. ‘We have human bodies. Maybe not as many limitations, but this is how they function. Stop looking so scared about it.’

They lie in silence for a minute, not exactly amiable but not wholly tense either. Crowley listens to the Angel’s breathing and wonders if now is a good time to wank. His cock has been standing at attention from the moment Aziraphale gave into him.

‘I have, you know.’ Aziraphale’s tentative voice breaks the quiet. ‘Touched myself, I mean … after - after Eden.’

Crowley turns to him, eyebrows raised. Blushing, the Angel avoids his gaze.

‘It … it didn’t feel the same.’ Aziraphale’s fingers are fumbling with a crushed pomegranate half. ‘Not as … not as good.’

Crowley gapes at him. _Heavens blessed_. It’s all he can do to not start laughing outright, fucking preening at Aziraphale’s confession.

‘Yeah, it usually feels better with someone else’s help,’ he gruffly says instead. ‘That’s why humans do it so much.’

Aziraphale turns on his side. ‘Do you need my help?’

With a jolt, Crowley realises Aziraphale is looking at the erection tenting his long black tunic. He raises an eyebrow. Hell, who is Crowley to turn down such a generous offer?

‘Hmm, you _did_ block me from a rather promising fuck this morning. I think you owe me, don't you?’

That makes Aziraphale frown, hesitating. Crowley hitches up his robe, exposing the proud jut of his cock.

‘C’mon, angel, we’ve been cooped up here a month and you haven’t so much as kept me company this whole time.’

Now the Angel looks a tad guilty, biting his lip. He scoots closer and, meeting Crowley’s eyes for a moment, timidly lets his fingers graze over Crowley’s cock.

‘It’s smooth.’ The Angel sounds surprised. ‘I didn’t think - usually these appendages look so hard during copulation -’

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley regards him closely, ‘have you never worn a cock?’

‘No,’ Aziraphale admits, closing his fingers in a loose fist around the thick shaft. His hand is incredibly soft.

‘No? But - a bit tighter, angel … yeah, yeah, like that … but why?’

Aziraphale shrugs one shoulder, all his focus on stroking Crowley up and down, the way he’d seen the Demon do it before.

‘Never had reason to wear one.’

‘No reason to wear a cunt, either, but you do,’ Crowley points out, breath hitching at the Angel’s careful touch. ‘It’s a bit too dry. Here, see my precum at the top - use that to slick me up _ohh_ , oh fuck, yeah … So, why no cock?’

‘I … I first wore what Eve had. And…’ Aziraphale trails off, his cheeks flushed.

Crowley hums. ‘Not comfortable with changing, hmm?’ It makes sense, he supposes. He has experimented with everything from the length of his hair to his presented gender over the past millennium. Meanwhile, Aziraphale looks more or less the same whenever they meet.

‘Getting dry again,’ Crowley says. ‘Why don’t you slick up your han - _ngk_!’

Wet warmth engulfs him when, without warning, Aziraphale suddenly leans over and takes Crowley in his mouth. Disbelieving and awed, Crowley gazes at the Angel who is clumsily trying to figure out how to use his tongue around a mouthful of cock.

Without looking at Crowley, Aziraphale pulls off and, after a moment of deliberation, begins to press his lips along the length of Crowley’s prick, leaving open-mouthed kisses and long wet licks. He is, Crowley realises, repeating what the Demon had done to wet his cunt earlier.

Crowley moans appreciatively when the Angel’s tongue returns to his leaking head.

‘Suck on it again,’ Crowley breathes roughly, eyes fluttering when the Angel obeys. ‘Yeah … go a bit deeper…’

He can see Aziraphale struggling, his pink lips stretched obscenely around Crowley as he tries to accommodate more of his length. The Angel bobs his head and Crowley hisses in pain.

‘Teeth!’

Aziraphale immediately tries to hollow his mouth more, looking contrite.

‘Teeth on prick is the worst,’ Crowley warns him. He places a reassuring hand in Aziraphale’s curls. ‘It’s all right. You’re doing fine. Pull your lips over your teeth, press with your tongue, and move slowly. See how deep you can take me…’

To his surprise, the Angel is a quick study. He never makes the mistake of grazing his teeth on Crowley again, but valiant though is his attempt to swallow down his cock, he ends up gagging loudly.

Crowley snickers when Aziraphale pulls off, blinking rapidly.

‘Takes a bit of practice, that. Tell you what, suck on my head. And,’ Crowley snaps his fingers and Aziraphale finds his palms slick with oil, ‘use your hands on the rest.’

Flushed, Aziraphale returns to task. He is comfortable with taking Crowley’s head in his mouth now, a fact that becomes apparent as he learns and falls into a rhythm of licking and sucking. Stroking the rest of Crowley’s length with his right hand, Aziraphale places his left on Crowley’s balls without prompting, massaging them experimentally.

Crowley breathes out harshly. ‘Oh, fuck, _angel_ …’

Encouraged, Aziraphale bobs his head a little, taking care not to suck in more than the head. He works his hands in tandem, playing with Crowley’s balls and working his shaft, adding an unexpected twist that has Crowley gasping.

‘Maybe one day you’ll see the perks of wearing a cock, too,’ Crowley pants. ‘Because I can tell you right now, it feels fucking amazing.’

Reddening further, Aziraphale increases the intensity of his efforts, causing Crowley to shout out. The Angel, virginal and inexperienced, is fellating Crowley for the first time and yet, it is the hardest the Demon has come in a long time.

Unprepared, Aziraphale chokes on the ropes of semen suddenly emptied into his mouth, dribbling over his chin.

Panting, Crowley stares at him for several seconds. ‘Well, aren’t you just something?’ he murmurs, watching Aziraphale with sultry eyes.‘A blessed natural cocksucker.’

The Angel blushes so hard Crowley can practically feel the heat radiating off him.

‘You could’ve warned me,’ he mumbles, letting go of Crowley’s cock.

‘And miss the sight of you covered in me?’ Leaning up, Crowley drags his tongue over Aziraphale’s chin and lips, licking him clean. He chuckles and lets go when the Angel splutters.

Wringing his hands together in his lap, Aziraphale asks, ‘Did that … help?’

‘Oh, _very_. But you know what’d feel even better?’ Crowley gives him a lazy grin. ‘Having my cock buried in a nice, wet cunt or arse.’

Eyes widening, Aziraphale scoots back to his spot.

Crowley laughs loudly. ‘Relax, I’m joking. I mean, yes, it’d feel better, but … I told you long ago I wouldn’t do it if you didn’t want to, remember?’

Aziraphale looks carefully at him. ‘But you would do it to humans?’

‘It’s their choice.’ Crowley waves an aimless hand. ‘If they want to be tempted, they are. I don’t take responsibility for what happens after.’

The Angel says nothing to that.

With a meaningful look, Crowley holds out another pomegranate. ‘Want more?’

Aziraphale hesitates only for a few seconds this time. Looking at Crowley, he lies back. And spreads his legs.

Crowley grins.

By the time the flood subsides and land appears from below again, Crowley has Aziraphale’s sharp taste memorised and branded on his tongue.

As the humans disembark and the animals joyously run free, Crowley pushes Aziraphale up against the hull of the ark one more time. Under the arch of a brand new rainbow, he fucks his fingers into the now familiar heat of Aziraphale’s pussy until the Angel sobs his release into Crowley’s neck.

Pulling back, Crowley sucks his fingers clean with a smirk. Aziraphale gazes at him, wrecked.

‘Until next time, angel.’

~***~

Seeking and giving mutual pleasure becomes a thing after the flood.

Crowley likes to think he got Aziraphale hooked after months upon months of showing the Angel just how good he can make him feel. They had put blessings and temptations on hold during those blissful days on the ark, barely leaving each other’s company.

When normal life and assignments resume, their meetings once more become irregular though not particularly infrequent. Crowley is pleased and relieved to find that, even with the ark behind them, Aziraphale remains open to, er, lending a hand. And his mouth.

Things don’t progress beyond that, however.

Crowley certainly fantasises about it though. He has seen much of the Angel’s body, and his thoughts often wander to the delectable effort Aziraphale wears between his legs, imagining with relish the day he can finally own that. When Crowley isn’t fucking humans, the images of Aziraphale are enough to feed his wank fantasies.

In the meantime, he keeps up the relationship he has been building with Aziraphale since the Beginning. When their mouths and hands are not otherwise occupied, Crowley goes for drinks and meals with him, makes him laugh with jokes, and listens and talks about the world and the things that fascinate them both.

He keeps giving Aziraphale his smiles, his attention, his interest; staving off the loneliness of being an immortal surrounded by mortal-kind, by letting Aziraphale know he can turn to Crowley. Always.

And where Aziraphale had responded to Crowley’s attentions before with increasing warmth and friendliness, he does so now with an additional layer of happiness, shyness and eagerness. Particularly when Crowley invites him to one of their little trysts.

But the change that strikes Crowley most is Aziraphale’s attitude towards his seductions. Oncerighteously disapproving of Crowley’s assignments, mentions of them now make Aziraphale close in on himself, falling into cold silences.

It takes some time before Crowley sees Aziraphale’s reaction for what it is.

Jealousy.

Jealousy towards the humans Crowley takes to bed.

_Ah-ha._

If Aziraphale had been fondly attached to Crowley before the ark, the Angel is now fairly infatuated with him.

Crowley hides his triumph and keeps his lips sealed. He doesn’t nudge Aziraphale into sex either.

If Aziraphale is to fall, it will be of his own volition.

It’s only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long can Aziraphale hold out? He has one leg out of the frying pan already :)))
> 
> Oh and yes, Crowley realised his initial name was too squirming-at-your-feet-ish early on because for once, I refuse to write four fucking thousand years of _Crawly_
> 
> Are things getting better or worse? I'd love to hear your reactions to these guys <3 Please drop a comment or come scream at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	3. breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, **mind the tags** , folks!

Crowley counts down the centuries, the decades, the years - and his patience pays off. Just like he’s always known it will.

It takes some thousand years, give or take, after the events of the Great Flood, but Aziraphale eventually reaches his breaking point.

They come across each other in a small country in the continent that will later come to be known as Africa, where their respective assignments have led them to the same city.

Crowley is in an inn, enjoying a drink as he awaits his target. It’s there that Aziraphale runs into him, his blue eyes lighting up at the sight of the Demon when he enters the adjoining tavern.

Crowley greets him with his customary wide grin when the Angel approaches, smiling shyly.

‘Hello. Fancy running into you here. May I join you?’

‘’Course,’ Crowley nods for Aziraphale to sit across him at the table. ‘Drink’s on me.’

‘Thank you.’ Aziraphale smiles at him, flushed and happy as Crowley signals the serving girl to bring more honeyed wine. ‘It has been a while, hasn’t it? Much has happened since last we saw each other. Would you like to join me for a meal after?’

Crowley doesn’t miss the poorly veiled hope in Aziraphale’s offer. Usually he never turns the Angel down; it’s part of his investment to keep Aziraphale’s focus on him. This evening is a different matter, however.

‘Sorry, angel. Got things to do.’

‘Oh.’ Aziraphale deflates, barely managing a grateful smile for the serving girl as she places his wine before him. He looks over at Crowley, expression guarded. ‘An assignment?’

Crowley gives an affirmative grunt as he knocks back the last of his drink.

‘A seduction?’ Aziraphale presses on, sounding even more hesitant.

The Demon puts down his clay cup, trying not to betray his amusement. Aziraphale isn’t subtle at all.

‘Yes.’

An ugly cloud shadows the Angel’s face and he looks at his wine, lips turning down. Crowley watches him, waiting. Aziraphale will ask; he doesn’t want to know, but he can never help asking -

‘Who?’

Right then, Crowley’s target walks into the tavern from the side-door that connects to the main inn.

‘Her - the innkeeper’s daughter.’

Aziraphale cranes his neck round to look at her, and Crowley looks at Aziraphale, gauging his reaction.

The young woman, with smooth dark skin, is a thing of beauty. Her elegant face is framed by long, black curls she ties back with a strip of cloth before approaching the serving girl to take over her shift. The two women exchange smiles and a few words, and then the innkeeper’s daughter is tying an apron around her waist, highlighting her shapely body despite her modest dress.

Aziraphale’s face darkens the longer he looks at her. Crowley props his chin on his fist, lips twitching. He wonders if the Angel is aware of how transparent he is*.

(* Even if he weren’t, Crowley would’ve picked up on Aziraphale’s jealousy eventually. If Angels are made to sense love and beautiful things, Demons are made to sense lust and ugly things.)

‘Why her?’ Aziraphale finally speaks, turning back in his seat. He picks up his cup unhappily.

‘Pretty little virgin. I’m to deflower her.’

The Angel chokes on his first sip and Crowley snickers.

‘Yeah. She is to be married off within the fortnight.’

‘And you’re trying to compromise her eligibility or discourage her groom?’ Aziraphale asks, frowning.

‘Nah,’ Crowley draws out the word. ‘I’m saving her from being a kept wife. Today I am but a helpless man seduced by her beauty. I shall beg for a single night with her, and help her realise she is more alluring than diamonds.’

Crowley leans forward, his smile almost conspiratorial. ‘She will learn to use her body and her own agency. She will leave a string of broken hearts and shattered male egos in her wake. Give her five years and she will make her way into the bed of the most powerful man here. That woman will be a fucking queen.’

Aziraphale takes all this in with an indifferent countenance. ‘That sounds convoluted.’

Crowley chuckles. ‘True, I can’t guarantee all of that will happen. That’s up to her. I’m only here to open her eyes to the possibilities.’

‘What a noble penis you have,’ says Aziraphale flatly.

Crowley almost chokes on his laughter. ‘ _Language_ , angel,’ he chides, grinning widely. ‘Anyway, off to work.’

As Crowley stands up, Aziraphale slumps in his chair, picking up his wine but not drinking. This is but one in hundreds of moments when Crowley has caught on to Aziraphale’s jealousy, but right as he is about to go about his business -

The idea strikes him like pure inspiration.

Crowley turns back to the Angel. ‘Say, you’ve never seen me carry out a full temptation, have you? Wanna watch?’

‘I can see you seduce that poor girl from right here, thank you,’ says Aziraphale stiffly.

‘I mean, watch _all_ of it.’

Aziraphale gapes at him. He puts down his cup.

Crowley grins. Bait taken.

He tells Aziraphale where to find the room he’s rented at the inn for tonight.

‘Go inside and make yourself comfy and invisible. I’ll show you what a seduction looks like.’

~***~

Crowley puts on a fucking show.

It’s not that he doesn’t go all in during his seductions; he does when he finds the human particularly attractive or if he is really in the mood to indulge in carnal pleasure.

But quite often, Crowley tends to be a bit more mechanical when he is fucking for an assignment. He goes through all of the physical motions, touching his partners in the right places to get them aroused and begging, but ultimately it’s a chore.

Not tonight though. Tonight Aziraphale is in the room, hidden to the side of the bed and already dripping jealousy by the time Crowley leads the innkeeper’s daughter inside.

Aziraphale is here, about to watch Crowley fuck someone else, and Crowley is going to make itdownright unbearable for him.

He doesn’t just touch the beautiful dark woman; he makes it look like an act of worship.

The moment the door closes behind them, he kisses her soundly - an act he sometimes forgoes to get to the main course.

Crowley kisses her with tongue and teeth as he undresses her, and when he has her on the bed, he reverently explores every inch of her body, making her writhe and moan under him. With every kiss he presses to her lips, her neck, her breasts, with every caress to her stomach, her hips, her thighs, Crowley can sense Aziraphale - his heightening agitation, his curdling envy, his _anger_ , oh, it’s all sinfully delicious and Crowley revels in it.

By the time Crowley gets to the woman’s cunt, he can almost _hear_ Aziraphale’s breath, shaking and uncontrolled.

Crowley smirks.

He eats her out to an orgasm and then fucks her through two more.

At the end, he whispers in her ear, ‘You have no idea the effect you can have on men, darling. With the right moves, you can accomplish _anything_.’

Crowley sees the temptation take root, in the sudden sharpening of her eyes. He drops one last kiss on her lips, purely for Aziraphale’s benefit, and then leaves her fucked out on the bed.

Once cleaned and dressed, Crowley throws a sizzling look at the corner where Aziraphale is standing and walks out of the door.

~***~

Crowley has made it no more than ten steps when a strong hand catches him by the elbow. Next thing he knows, he has been pulled through into another room of the inn.

The door slams shut and Aziraphale is standing in front of him, his blue eyes wide and locked on Crowley’s.

The Demon grins down at him. ‘Well, did you enjoy the show?’

Aziraphale doesn’t reply. He is breathing hard, and from the hand wrapped around Crowley’s elbow, he can tell that the Angel is trembling.

Jealousy is still rolling off him in waves, but there is something else there - a vulnerability in his eyes that draws Crowley to him.

With perfect concern, Crowley cups his face. ‘All right, angel?’

Eyes fluttering shut, Aziraphale leans into the touch, pressing his cheek into Crowley’s palm. He covers Crowley’s hand with his, the touch almost desperate.

Crowley steps closer. ‘Tell me, did you _like_ what you saw?’ With his free hand, he slyly strokes down Aziraphale’s side before smoothly hitching up his tunic. He slips his fingers between the Angel’s legs, smiling at the way his breath hitches.

‘Oh, angel, you’re _soaking_ ,’ Crowley chuckles gleefully, massaging his wet folds. ‘All this from watching me fuck a girl? You must have really liked what you saw, hmm?’

‘I hated it,’ Aziraphale says very softly, opening his eyes.

‘Did you now?’

‘Yes.’

Crowley hums. ‘Well, I suppose voyeurism isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Certainly not a very angelic trait.’

‘Crowley -’

‘Oh, but this can’t feel very comfortable.’ Crowley slides between Aziraphale’s labia, teasing from his dripping entrance to his clit. ‘Do you want me to bring you off?’

‘No, I -’

‘Then what?’ Crowley strokes his thumb over Aziraphale’s cheek, while his other hand works at his cunt, making the Angel squirm against him. ‘Should I leave?’

‘No!’ Aziraphale moans.

‘Then what do you want, Aziraphale?’

‘I … I want you to make love to me.’

Crowley stops his movements. Breathing hard, the Angel looks at him; his face is flushed and he is still trembling, but he looks Crowley in the eye and repeats,

‘Make love to me.’

Crowley slips his hand out from between Aziraphale’s legs, bringing it to his mouth to lick his fingers clean.

Two thousand years. Two thousand years and his patience has paid off.

He smiles at Aziraphale, the grin of a serpent about to strike. ‘As you wish, angel,’ he says silkily.

Aziraphale catches him off guard then. Before Crowley can say or do anything else, the Angel presses up against him, bringing their lips together in a kiss.

Crowley stills, blinking, as Aziraphale cradles his face in his soft hands. The Angel is blindly pushing his mouth against Crowley’s, and it occurs to him then that this is their first kiss.

Nearly a millennium of engaging in mutual pleasure, but Crowley has never kissed Aziraphale before.

And Aziraphale hasn’t kissed anyone, it becomes apparent from the uncertain way he is moving his lips over the Demon’s. With some amusement, Crowley muses on how Aziraphale has learnt over the past thousand years to suck Crowley’s cock and eat his pussy with aplomb, but a kiss has the Angel all aflutter.

But there is warmth in it and earnestness, an underlying urgency that speaks of the sheer longing Aziraphale is pouring into this fumbling kiss.

The Angel has been wanting this for a very long time.

Crowley smiles sweetly into the kiss before taking charge and proceeding to turn it filthy.

Aziraphale moans when Crowley pries his lips open, sliding his tongue possessively inside the Angel’s mouth.

_Fuck_ , Crowley groans. He has long been addicted to the taste of the Angel’s pussy, but Aziraphale’s mouth is no less delectable.

The Angel meets Crowley’s tongue with his own, curious and eager, following the Demon’s lead. He lets himself be coaxed into Crowley’s mouth in turn and then whimpers when Crowley catches his tongue between sharp teeth, sucking on the sinewy muscle until Aziraphale is moaning lewdly against him. Relinquishing him for a moment, Crowley bites down on the Angel’s lower lip, sucking harshly.

When he finally pulls back, Aziraphale looks debauched already. His pink lips are swollen red, his mouth glistening from Crowley’s attentions.

Crowley reads it like a mark of ownership.

Aziraphale takes him by surprise yet again, going down on his knees next moment to push up Crowley’s dark tunic. He appears surprised when the Demon’s prick bobs free, hard and erect already.

‘Oh, you’re…!’ Aziraphale begins, a blush colouring his cheeks. ‘I thought - since, just now you were …’

Crowley chuckles. ‘For you, angel? I’m always ready.’

Aziraphale reddens further, but he can’t hide his pleased look.

‘And while I enjoy having that decadent mouth around me, I think we’d both rather that I fuck another hole of yours tonight, hmm?’

Even after all this time, Aziraphale manages to be embarrassed by Crowley’s filthy mouth.

Chuckling, he hauls the Angel back into his arms, meeting his lips in another fervent kiss. He backs Aziraphale towards the bed, grabbing at his light tunic and pulling it up over his head. Aziraphale impatiently does the same for him, and then they are falling onto the feather mattress.

Crowley goes up on his hands and knees, to rake his eyes greedily over the Angel lying, nude at long last, under him. He has seen much of Aziraphale’s body before, but always from below the hips. Now, he licks his lips at the sight of dusky nipples, pert and ready to be pleasured, a soft but broad chest lightly dusted with white blond hair, and the swell of a generous belly.

‘Why are you staring so hard?’ Aziraphale’s expression is somewhere between self-conscious and mortified, and he begins to cross his arms over his chest in a token move to cover himself.

In a flash, Crowley grabs his wrists, pinning them down on either side of the Angel’s head.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ he hisses. ‘After all this time, you don’t get to hide from me.’

Aziraphale bites his lips, looking up at Crowley from under his lashes. ‘I don’t imagine I look like … well, like most lovers you’ve had.’

‘You’re not most lovers,’ Crowley tells him.

Aziraphale blinks, looking unsure how to take that comment.

‘Most lovers don’t give me a raging erection that lasts two thousand years since our first meeting.’

At that, the Angel blushes red as an apple. Red as a pomegranate, Crowley thinks to himself, feeling himself grow impossibly harder. Hell, does Aziraphale have no idea how fucking enticing he is?

‘Have you really wanted me that long?’ whispers the Angel, his eyes wide and swimming with doubt and hope.

‘I thought I rather made that clear that day in the Garden,’ Crowley smiles, leaning down to brush his nose against Aziraphale’s. ‘And if you doubt my words, ask my cock.’

He grinds down on Aziraphale, rubbing his hard prick between the Angel’s thighs. It slides over the soaked folds of Aziraphale’s sex and he shudders, spreading his legs further.

The action is nearly enough to tempt Crowley to just start pounding Aziraphale into the bed, but he hasn’t been waiting this long to boil all this down to one measly fuck.

No, Aziraphale is a feast; he has always been and Crowley intends to gorge himself.

Releasing his wrists, Crowley leans down to sample Aziraphale’s mouth once more before kissing along his jaw, trailing wet open-mouthed kisses under his left ear and down his neck. They’ve perhaps kissed each other here during horny hand jobs in the past, but this is a new kind of intimacy, and Crowley inhales the Angel’s intoxicating smell as he sucks on his neck, bruising the delicate white skin.

The attention has Aziraphale panting already in Crowley’s ear, making wanton little noises as Crowley kisses and bites along his strong shoulder, sinking his teeth into pudgy flesh.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale whines, his voice saturated with both pleasure and need as the Demon begins to kiss his throat. He sucks on his Adam’s apple, laving his tongue over the bump, before proceeding to pay Aziraphale’s right shoulder and neck the same attention.

Whining his name again, Aziraphale undulates beneath him, rubbing up into Crowley desperately. Without letting up on his tastings, Crowley returns the gesture with slow rolls of his hips, letting his cock just graze and slide over the Angel’s folds.

‘Oh please, please, Crowley,’ Aziraphale begins to plead when Crowley’s mouth finds his clavicle, sucking and biting over his collarbones languidly.

Crowley’s only response is to lave wet kisses over the Angel’s chest, savouring the tang of his sweat. Licking his lips, he brushes the lightest kiss over a pert nipple.

‘Ahh!’ Aziraphale gasps, chest heaving.

Smirking at having correctly guessed Aziraphale’s sensitivity there, Crowley flicks his tongue over the nub to elicit another gasp, and then goes to fucking town.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale cries as the Demon begins to suckle and lick, alternating from one breast to the other without pause. The sound of his voice only spurs Crowley on, and he drags his splayed hands down over Aziraphale’s sides to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of his waist, his hips, massaging the rolls of fat that fit his palms perfectly as if made for them.

The Angel arches into the touches, almost sobbing with pleasure as Crowley continues to suck and bite his nipples to aching hardness, occasionally balancing the torment with wet licks and sipping kisses.

By the time he lifts his head, Aziraphale has been reduced to nothing but panting, ‘Ah, ah, _ah_!’, his eyes screwed shut and lips bitten red.

Crowley admires the mess he’s made of the Angel so far. The porcelain skin of his neck, shoulders and chest is a painting of red and purpling bruises left in the wake of Crowley’s greedy mouth, and Aziraphale’s body already bears the imprint of his hands.

He hasn’t even fucked the Angel but Crowley feels like he has made his claim already.

Between his legs, Aziraphale is oozing, his juices beginning to stain the bedsheet. His legs fall open wider, begging for Crowley without words.

Crowley smirks at him, teasing, ‘Patience is a virtue.’

Aziraphale whimpers, but lies back and takes it when Crowley resumes his ministrations, kissing and licking over the swell of Aziraphale’s stomach to tease at his navel and trace every stretch mark with his tongue. The Angel makes noises of complaint again when Crowley settles between his legs only to bite and suck marks on his inner thighs, sinking his teeth into the luscious fat before soothing the bruises with his tongue.

But when Crowley’s kisses lead him to the Angel’s dripping pussy, Aziraphale loses patience.

‘No,’ he says, lifting his hips away when Crowley licks at his puffy slit. ‘You’ve done that before -’

With a low growl, Crowley pins his hips down to lave over his folds.

‘Please,’ Aziraphale begs, his hands settling on Crowley’s head, tugging at the long curls. ‘Please, I - you’ll make me come.’

‘That’s the idea,’ Crowley hisses, spreading Aziraphale open and marvelling at the gush of slick.

‘No, I …’ Aziraphale bites his lip when the Demon begins to lick at his swollen clit, ‘I don’t - _ohh_! Oh, Crowley, _please_ … I - I don’t want to come before you’re -’

‘Fucking you?’ Crowley growls right as Aziraphale gasps, ‘Inside me.’

With a low chuckle, Crowley goes up on his hands and knees again to lean over Aziraphale. ‘I fully intend to fuck you, y’know, no matter how many times you come in my mouth first.’

But the Angel shakes his head, looking imploringly at him. ‘I want to feel you like this first.’

‘Like how, when you’re so horny you’re about to burst?’

The flaming blush speaks volumes.

Crowley chuckles again, leering down at Aziraphale. ‘All right, then, angel, seeing as you’re so eager. But first,’ he slides his hand between Aziraphale’s folds, ‘you’re gonna take a few of my fingers.’

Aziraphale makes a sound of protest but Crowley shushes him. ‘I mean to fuck you, not hurt you. You will let me prepare you. Don’t worry,’ he adds, eyes twinkling down at the Angel, ‘I won’t make you come. And if you somehow do,’ Crowley pushes two fingers inside the slippery cunt, making Aziraphale gasp, ‘hmm, well, I guess I’d have to punish this naughty pussy of yours, yeah? Withhold my cock until you’ve come at least twice by my tongue, maybe.’

Open-mouthed, the Angel stares dazedly up at Crowley as the Demon moves his fingers inside him.

‘I think I’d like that,’ Aziraphale says at last. ‘But another time.’

Crowley laughs at his boldness. _Another time, huh_. He licks his lips. That can be arranged, he thinks. He really, really wants to arrange it, in fact.

True to his word, he keeps his movements slow and avoids Aziraphale’s clit, working up to three fingers before he deems him ready. By the time Crowley settles between his thighs, palming his leaking prick, Aziraphale is practically quivering.

Bracing up on his right forearm, Crowley leans down to kiss Aziraphale. He grasps his cock and slides the tip between the Angel’s folds, aligning with his opening.

‘Are you sure, angel? There’s no coming back from this.’ Aziraphale has already sealed his fate, but Crowley wants to hear him again - his surrender, of his own free will.

And he does, murmuring, ‘Yes. Make love to me, please,’ against Crowley’s lips.

Crowley gives the moment a chance to solidify. Then he pushes in.

_Fuck_.

He has imagined this so many, many times over the past two thousand years; imagined the stretch, the heat, the _sin_ of it all.

His imagination doesn’t hold a candle to reality.

The head of his cock catches on the tight entrance, a tantalising moment of apprehension and sweet pain, and then he is being engulfed in scorching heat. Aziraphale’s lips stretch around him, his virginal channel reluctantly yielding inch by inch to the press of Crowley’s thick cock inside. And then he is completely sheathed, every bit of him gripped snugly on all sides by the hot, velvet walls of Aziraphale’s throbbing cunt.

It’s fire, it’s bliss, it’s the sweetest torture, and Crowley swears out loud while Aziraphale cries plaintively at the overwhelming intrusion.

‘Fuck,’ Crowley pants into Aziraphale’s neck as the Angel clings to his back, ‘you’re tight, you’re so fucking tight around me, angel, so fucking good, you feel so good, so hot -’

He continues to hiss filth into the Angel’s ear until Aziraphale finally pushes at his shoulder, tentatively rolling his hips.

Crowley blesses at the sensation. Going up on his knees, he pushes Aziraphale’s legs up and begins to pull out. He pulls out all the way despite Aziraphale’s cry of protest, just for the pleasure of seeing the Angel’s swollen lips stretch obscenely around his cock when Crowley rocks in again. With agonising slowness, Crowley repeats the movements, shamelessly staring at the way Aziraphale’s cunt swallows his cock, practically sucking him inside, while the Angel moans. His prick is glistening with Aziraphale’s juices and his overflowing slick gushes out from his stretched pussy every time Crowley pushes in with a filthy squelch.

Then Aziraphale cants his hips, meeting Crowley’s thrust with a wet slapping sound.

Crowley stills, looking up at Aziraphale with a heated glare. His body is wound tight, taut with arousal unlike any he has felt before, and suddenly Crowley is done with _slow_.

He has wanted Aziraphale for two thousand years and now, he wants him right fucking _now_.

With a growl, Crowley pulls out and this time, he slams back in, driving his cock into the slick, flaming heat of Aziraphale. The Angel wails, jaw dropping open, but his voice is filled not with agony, but pure unadulterated pleasure.

Crowley loses all inhibitions.

Dropping Aziraphale’s legs to wrap them around his waist, Crowley falls forward, bracing himself up on either side of the Angel’s head. Amber meets sapphire, and Crowley snaps his hips hard, thrusting deep and merciless into Aziraphale. He doesn’t let up, fucking the Angel into the mattress over and over, his prick aching with the drag of Aziraphale’s silken walls on it.

Then those walls are clenching around him, and Aziraphale almost screams as his orgasm, barely held off these past few minutes, overcomes him. His cunt pulses, squeezing Crowley impossibly tighter, and still Crowley doesn’t relent, can’t relent, his body driven on lust and instinct now to keep pounding into Aziraphale.

Aziraphale keens, overwhelmed and over-sensitised, his hands scrabbling at Crowley’s shoulders, his back, raking his blunt nails over the sweaty skin. Crowley feels the pleasure-pain of it and hisses, working his hips endlessly, desperately into the Angel beneath him.

No, not the Angel. His Angel.

_Mine_ , he thinks, and he growls the word, smells it in the air, fucks it into his Angel, his Aziraphale, _his_.

Aziraphale meets his eyes, soft and lovely, and quietly agrees,

‘Yours.’

A voice he barely recognises as his own is torn from his throat as his orgasm hits, so hard his vision blurs for a second. He fucks into Aziraphale frantically, losing rhythm as he rides it out, his cock spilling deep in the Angel’s body. Distantly, Crowley is aware of Aziraphale’s cries and his pussy pulsing around him again as the Angel reaches his second climax.

Crowley drops onto his forearms, panting. He closes his eyes, tremors running down his spine from after shocks.

Blinking, he is met with the sight of a blissed out Aziraphale, smiling hazily up at him. The Angel is unmoving, boneless and tired. His cunt is still throbbing, though with less intensity, around Crowley’s cock.

Crowley huffs a quiet laugh. ‘’M afraid you’re done for, angel. You’ll find none other can satisfy you now you’ve had a taste of me.’

‘Humble, aren’t we?’ Aziraphale smiles at him, lazy and satiated. Then, expression dimming a little, he admits, ‘I’ve never wanted another.’

Crowley stares down at him. And then in one swift move, he has Aziraphale flipped over onto his stomach, nudging his legs open.

‘Crowley?’ says the Angel, startled. Then he gasps when he feels a tongue, long and slick, fluttering at his arse.

‘You kept me waiting for two thousand years,’ Crowley says in a low voice. ‘You don’t think I’m done with you yet, do you.’

Aziraphale fists his hands in the sheets, breathing hard at the sensation of Crowley’s tongue teasing at his rim.

Crowley has never done this to him before, keeping their past trysts focussed strictly on the Angel’s cunt. In a sense, the Demon has been saving this act for a special day - and the day that Aziraphale has let Crowley possess him completely seems more than appropriate.

Humming contentedly, Crowley swirls his tongue over Aziraphale’s arsehole, complacently aware that until now, the Angel had been untouched here as well. Aziraphale moans, tensing when Crowley presses in, the tip of his tongue breaching the tight hole.

With a wet slurp, Crowley shushes him. ‘If you’re good for me, I’ll give you more than my tongue here tonight. Tell me if it’s too much or you want to stop,’ he adds, lubricating his fingers with a thought, ‘though knowing _you_ , I have a feeling you won’t be satisfied until you’re taking my cock here too.’

Aziraphale whimpers, making Crowley chuckle. He presses a slick finger to the puckered hole.

They don’t leave the room, indeed not even the bed, until the following morning. As dawn breaks outside, Aziraphale curls into Crowley’s side, exhausted and asleep, perhaps for the first time in his existence.

With a satisfied smirk, Crowley drops a kiss on Aziraphale’s lips and cleans him up with a miracle, washing off the sweat and come on his body, except from between his legs. Aziraphale will wake up to Crowley’s spend dripping from his well-fucked pussy and arse, and he will know there is no turning back.

He will know to whom he belongs.

After that day, just as Crowley expects, sexual intercourse finally joins the list of activities they engage in when they meet.

The years roll by, life goes on, and the world is wide and humans endlessly fascinating so as to always have something new to explore - but it’s all so much nicer indeed, Crowley thinks, when at the end there is a warm, wet angelic quim to sink into.

~***~

It’s not lost on Crowley that Aziraphale has surrendered his body to a Demon but did not Fall.

He thinks about it sometimes, vaguely wondering why and just how much sin it takes in this day and age to make an Angel Fall.

For the most part, it’s just idle questions. What Crowley had wanted from the Beginning was Aziraphale himself, to have the Angel, to fuck him as he pleases - and now that he’s getting all that, really, Crowley doesn’t have complaints.

Regardless of Aziraphale’s un-Fallen status, however, now that he has submitted to his basest instincts, Crowley views him a little differently from the prissy Angel he first met in Eden.

Because it’s harder to take his stance on Heavenly doctrine seriously, not when perhaps just hours ago, he’d been begging for Crowley’s cock.

Crowley has never hesitated to voice his overall opinions on Heaven’s decisions, such as that time with the flood. But now that Aziraphale has fallen low enough to surrender to his lustful desires for Crowley, the Demon doesn’t bother with any kind of filter around Aziraphale at all.

Mount Vesuvius explodes and Crowley fucks Aziraphale in its ashes a week later.

‘What a fucking waste,’ he growls in Aziraphale’s ear as he thrusts into his arse, the Angel shaking as he holds himself up on his hands and knees.

There is nothing below them but hardened ash and soot, and below that, entire populations that met their end at Heaven’s hand. Again.

The ash from the cooled lave stains their clothes and bodies black. Black, like Crowley’s wings.

‘A waste,’ he repeats, fucking Aziraphale into the ground. ‘All those lives gone, and for what?’

‘Crowley, I -’

‘Were they all evil? Did they all deserve to die?’

‘No,’ Aziraphale moans.

‘And yet, this is what divine punishment looks like,’ Crowley grunts, his voice ugly and mocking. ‘A monster eruption and entire cities laid to waste.’

‘I’m not consulted on policy decisions,’ the Angel gasps, his voice cracking with both misery and the confused arousal of suddenly being at the mercy of a Demon.

‘Would you have stopped it then, if you had the power to?’ Crowley asks. He grabs the Angel around the middle, smearing ash over his white skin, and heaves him back onto Crowley’s lap, snapping his hips harder into his arse. ‘Would you have saved these people?’

‘I don’t have the power, though,’ says Aziraphale, very softly. ‘It’s not my decision.’

‘Is that you talking or Heaven?’ Crowley hisses.

Aziraphale doesn’t answer, but when he comes on Crowley’s cock, untouched, he sobs.

Crowley lays down with Aziraphale in his arms. ‘Hey, I know, I know,’ he soothes, stroking his blackened fingers through Aziraphale’s curls, tainting the fair hair.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Crowley murmurs into his skin. ‘Their decisions, not yours, remember? It’s not your fault, angel, that Heaven is nothing but a bunch of cruel, vindictive dicks.’

For the first time, Aziraphale doesn't protest or argue. And Crowley smiles, victorious.

Aziraphale pretends he’s not crying and Crowley pretends he can’t hear him crying, as they lie together on the ashes of a mass graveyard.

It’s not the first time Crowley has _been there_ for Aziraphale, in the face of Heaven’s collective punishments.

He was there when the Archangel Sandalphon rained down Heaven’s wrath on Sodom and Gomorrah. Aziraphale had been unable to utter a word then, letting Crowley pull him away, far away, to a place where the grass was still green and the stars still visible.

Crowley had shushed him and held him close.

‘I can hear their screams,’ Aziraphale had whispered, his voice hollow.

‘Hush now.’

‘And I saw Sandalphon … I can’t believe…'

‘Hush, angel,’ he’d murmured as Aziraphale hid his despair and splintering faith in Crowley’s neck. ‘Stay with me. Let me hold you, let me help you forget for a little while…’

He had held Aziraphale in his arms and given him his words, his lips and eventually his cock, fucking the Angel slow and gentle enough to almost call it making love.

Later, Crowley was there to pick up the pieces of Aziraphale’s heart when the four plagues tore Egypt apart.

Crowley was there to hold Aziraphale together when the messiah was tortured and crucified.

Time and time again, Heaven is not there for Aziraphale, but Crowley is.

And he lets Aziraphale know with every word whispered in his ear, every tear kissed off his cheeks, every thrust inside his yielding body - and Aziraphale gives in to Crowley, letting himself be possessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I love this dark!Crowley but I make _myself_ uncomfortable writing him sometimes asdkjfafj (if you meet someone like him irl, pls kick them out of your life <3)
> 
> So Crowley finally fulfilled his fantasy of fucking ~~wow alliteration~~ Aziraphale. I hope I did the scene depraved justice /shudder/ Some of those paragraphs might be the filthiest sex I’ve written, and having written a lot of smut for ‘Wicked Thing’, I wasn’t sure that was possible. I’mma go hide now
> 
> Next update might take a couple of days. Stay tuned~ Their affair/relationship ~~for lack of a better term~~ still has a bit of a ride, with a few wild turns, left. 
> 
> Please drop a comment and let me know what you think? :D   
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	4. use your words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Mind the tags!** Also, remember my note in the first chapter on sexual content, about them swapping genitals and/or switching? Yeah, that comes into play in this part.

Between the tragedies spearheaded by Heaven, the world continues to turn and life goes on on its never ending march.

During these calm stretches, Crowley comes to learn that for all that Aziraphale is unnecessarily empathetic to the plight of humans, he remains unwaveringly strong. As time ticks by, Aziraphale buries down his sorrows and uncertainties, and smiles like the sunshine at humans, and life, and Crowley.

A lot of the time at Crowley, over decadent meals, quality liquor, amiable conversations - and the occasional gift.

From the moment humans learnt that language is not restricted to sound but can be carved and inked into stone and scrolls, Aziraphale had fallen in love with the idea. Over the years, Crowley has observed his fascination with writings and hobby of collecting them, and the Demon makes a point to make his contributions every now and then.

Because while good food and drink always go down well with Aziraphale, the sheer smouldering affection the Angel emanates at being presented with papyri and vellum scrolls, even animal skin writings, is unparalleled.

Crowley gives him such gifts and is rewarded for his troubles with a dazzling smile, a lovely blush and, on most occasions, a sweet kiss to his lips. 

It’s nice.

Even nicer still when they retire after a day spent together, and Aziraphale spreads his legs for him.

And the Angel is willing to, always. He’s made it abundantly clear that he craves and enjoys Crowley’s presence and touch.

Crowley himself is quite satisfied with how things between them are progressing. Time spent with Aziraphale never feels like a drag. The Angel is good company and a good fuck.

He is in need of good company when they run into each other in Rome, not long after that appalling debacle in Jerusalem and Golgotha.

Rome is a hive of sin which naturally makes it Crowley’s scene - but there is only so many times he wants to fuck Caligula and his senators.

Make Rome an even bigger den of iniquity than it already is*, Hell had ordered. Crowley had shrugged and started on his new job, and while he has inspired the humans to commit some spectacular acts of debauchery in those orgies of theirs, he is rapidly tiring of having the Emperor’s lecherous hands on him.

(* Not that the Romans need any infernal help to go down that road.)

So when Aziraphale catches him in a taberna and joins Crowley for a jug of house brown, the Demon’s sour mood swiftly drains. He’d much rather take Aziraphale to bed, and preferably keep him there, than a single other human in Rome.

But first, dinner. Aziraphale is enthusing about some new restaurant he wants to try, and the Angel is always more amenable to other activities once he’s been plied with food and pampered. And pampering Aziraphale is a skill Crowley has supremely mastered.

The oysters make him laugh, however, when their platter is served at Petronius’.

‘I can see why people are obsessed with eating these things,’ Crowley comments as he picks up a mollusk for closer inspection.

‘Oh?’ Aziraphale looks at him with interest. ‘Why?’

Crowley snickers. ‘Humans have always enjoyed eating pussy.’

It takes a few seconds for Aziraphale to understand. He blushes deeply, looking so scandalised that Crowley laughs harder.

‘Really, my dear,’ Aziraphale chides. But upon casting his gaze across the spread in front of them, he has to admit, ‘I suppose it makes sense the Romans think oysters are an aphrodisiac. They _do_ rather resemble … don’t they?’

‘Resemble what exactly?’ Crowley leers at him.

‘You know what I mean,’ says Aziraphale, reaching for an oyster.

Crowley rolls his eyes, amused. ‘Angel, I literally taught you how to eat me out thousands of years ago. And Satan knows how many times I’ve had my mouth on you. You should be able to say the fucking word now. What do they resemble?’

Pursing his lips, Aziraphale squirts lemon juice over his oyster, looks right at Crowley, and says, ‘A vulva.’

Crowley wheezes, shaking with laughter as the Angel raises the mollusk to his lips and slurps up the muscle, somehow able to make the whole process look downright prim.

‘You bastard.’

When Aziraphale beseeches him to try at least one, Crowley humours him and then fixes the Angel with a lascivious look.

‘It tastes all right, but I’d _much_ rather eat the one between your legs. It’s much prettier too.’

Aziraphale goes red and begins to splutter, ‘I - I don’t … that is, I’m not …’

In hindsight, that is the moment when Crowley perhaps ought to have first picked up on the new change Aziraphale is trying out.

As it is, he just encourages the Angel to finish his oysters, because Crowley is looking forward to introducing Aziraphale to the bath houses afterwards. Crowley is responsible for encouraging much of the degenerate behaviour that goes on in those public pools, and he is gleefully thinking about roping Aziraphale into it.

He is currently wearing a cunt himself; it has been a while since their genitals matched, and Crowley is already imagining all sorts of filthy acts he wants to get up to with the Angel.

It’s only after they enter one of the balneae that Crowley discovers their chosen efforts are not matching, after all.

The sun has set by then, the waters of the pool set shimmering by the light of several torches lit around the open area. There isn’t another soul in sight, which makes Aziraphale stop in his tracks as he follows Crowley inside the bath house.

Crowley, who has sent his dark toga into the ether, looks back questioningly.

‘I thought there would be people,’ says Aziraphale, clutching his toga protectively about him.

‘Usually, yeah, but let’s just say they were all mysteriously inclined to go home to their wives for once,’ Crowley says with a grin.

He is prepared for the look of gratitude Aziraphale gives him*. He is not prepared for that look to freeze when Aziraphale notices Crowley’s chosen effort for the time being.

(* Millennia later, the Angel still hesitates to even kiss Crowley in public. He’s chalked up his reasons to _head office might catch us -_ but Crowley knows it’s mainly out of a mildly irritating sense of _public decency_.)

‘Oh…’ the Angel says in a strange tone.

Impatient, Crowley waves an arm at him. ‘Well, go on. Or do you plan on getting in the bath fully clothed?’

‘It’s just …’ Biting his lip, Aziraphale turns around and begins to undress, his back to Crowley.

The Demon blinks, taken aback by this unexpected show of shyness, as the Angel carefully folds his garment and places it to the side. Aziraphale hesitates again, shifting his weight uncomfortably, before he at last turns around.

Whatever Crowley has been about to say catches in his throat.

Nestled between the Angel’s legs is not the pussy Crowley has been thinking about all through dinner, but a cock.

He gives a low whistle.

Already self-conscious, Aziraphale reddens further at the reaction. He cups his palms over himself.

‘Hey, none of that,’ says Crowley, approaching him. ‘Thousands of years and the one time I catch you with a prick, you hide it? That’s cruel.’

‘It’s just…’ Aziraphale blushes harder when Crowley stops in front of him. ‘I - I only wear it when I, uhm, have to. I thought there would be people here and, well, it’s easier to blend in with this configuration on a male body, so …’

Crowley chuckles. It is just like Aziraphale, he muses, to think along those lines and forgo the genitals he’s been comfortable with since the literal Beginning.

Not that Crowley is complaining. He’s been more than content to fuck Aziraphale’s lovely cunt and arse all this time, but in a corner of his mind, he’s always _wondered_ about potential sex with a cock-wearing Aziraphale.

In a distant sort of way, the sheer novelty of the idea has always excited him - and now, as Crowley urges Aziraphale to pull his hands away, that excitement manifests anew in his gut.

‘Oh, look at this,’ Crowley murmurs, going down on his knees in front of Aziraphale. The Angelmakes an embarrassed sound, which Crowley ignores in favour of eating up Aziraphale’s new effort with his eyes.

Aziraphale’s cock is pleasingly thick and of a modest length. It hangs, soft and flaccid, from the smattering of blond curls on his pelvis, and Crowley can see a pair of heavy balls behind it. Everything is there and all of it is perfect.

‘I once said you might see the perks of wearing a cock someday,’ says Crowley breathily, running his fingertips over the smooth shaft. ‘It’s today, angel.’

Aziraphale exhales shakily. ‘Are you certain? I could change -’

‘Perish the thought.’ Crowley grasps him by the hips. ‘I’ve been wondering about this for millennia, angel. Surely you won’t deny me now?’

Crowley gives Aziraphale two seconds to raise a protest. There is none. Moaning eagerly, Crowley swallows him down without preamble. 

It’s just like the first time Crowley put his mouth on Aziraphale’s pussy - an involuntary cry of pleasure is drawn from those pink lips as Crowley engulfs him, the Angel’s whole length held snugly in the wet heat of the Demon’s mouth and throat.

Crowley undulates his long tongue, using the serpentine skills unique to him to wrap and lave his tongue over and around Aziraphale’s prick, making him gasp. His cock begins to harden, filling Crowley’s mouth in a way he decides he _really_ likes. He keeps up the licking for several seconds, basking in Aziraphale’s rising* pleasure, before he hollows his mouth and begins to _suck_.

(* Literally.)

Aziraphale cries out, his fingers winding through Crowley’s short curls, trying to ground himself. The Angel is a master cocksucker himself, having gagged on Crowley for millennia now, and Crowley revels in the rush of finally showing Aziraphale just how blessed good it feels. He pulls back until he sucking on Aziraphale’s head, fluttering his tongue at the tip teasingly before he begins to bob his head, taking Aziraphale all the way in every time.

The increasing pitch of Aziraphale’s moans sends jolts of arousal through Crowley. Heat is pooling inside him, swiftly moistening him between the legs. Gone are his thoughts of riding Aziraphale’s face or rubbing their cunts together tonight. No, Crowley wants his pussy stuffed, and he wants it now.

‘C-Crowley, I -!’ is all Aziraphale manages before he comes, spilling in thick ropes in Crowley’s mouth.

The Demon sucks him down, swallowing every last drop of Aziraphale’s bitter salt.

When he is done, he leaps to his feet and shoves his tongue down Aziraphale’s throat, sharing the Angel’s sharp taste between them.

‘What a delectable mouthful you are,’ he hisses, drawing back with a self-satisfied smirk.

Aziraphale is flushed red all over, still shaking from his orgasm. Crowley kisses him again, biting at his lower lip.

‘Get in the bath, angel,’ he says in a low voice, dark with promise, ‘and rub that pretty little cock for me. You’re going to eat my cunt and get me all nice and wet before I ride you dry.’

Aziraphale fairly whimpers at his words. On shaky legs, he rushes to obey.

Crowley doesn’t waste any time tonight. A distant fantasy of his is coming true after literal thousands of years. As soon as Aziraphale is seated on the ledge that runs the length of the pool’s walls, submerged to his chest in warm water, Crowley moves into position.

Stepping into the water, he plants one foot on the ledge beside Aziraphale’s hip, and the other on the raised ground by his head, angling his cunt in Aziraphale’s face. He grabs the Angel by his hair, tilting his head back so that his mouth is right under Crowley’s pussy.

‘Go on, then,’ he says silkily. ‘You know how I like it. And, angel?’

Aziraphale blinks up at him, his blue eyes blown wide with both arousal and surprise at how this evening is turning out.

‘I want you hard and leaking by the time I’m ready.’

With that, he rests his cunt on Aziraphale’s lips, which immediately open to taste him.

Crowley sighs with pleasure as Aziraphale eagerly begins to eat him out, wrapping a grounding arm around Crowley’s leg on the ledge beside him. He starts out with teasing kitten licks at Crowley’s clit before tonguing along his folds to dip inside the already wet cunt, probing at his entrance.

Meanwhile in the water, Crowley can see Aziraphale’s free hand on his cock, grasping it firmly to tug it back to hardness. His movements are sure and swift, and Crowley wonders if the confidence comes from years of jerking Crowley off or whether Aziraphale touches himself in the rare instances he wears this particular effort.

The images of both make him throb and Crowley groans as the Angel repeatedly licks up from his vagina to his clit. Aziraphale is making lewd little noises, his mouth and chin smeared with slick as he sucks Crowley’s clit into his mouth.

Crowley can stay like this for hours coming into Aziraphale’s sweet mouth, but he’s thrumming with anticipation tonight. He’s beginning to understand Aziraphale’s position the first time they’d fucked, how the Angel had wanted Crowley inside him before he came.

Being what he is, Crowley has fucked and been fucked by all kinds of humans. He knows the feeling of having a cock inside him, but not _Aziraphale’s_ \- and Crowley finds that, yes, he really rather would come on the Angel’s cock this first time.

Tightening his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair, Crowley tugs him off. He whines in protest, his tongue licking at air as Crowley moves away.

‘Are you hard for me?’ Crowley asks breathily as he settles into the water, planting his knees on the ledge on either side of Aziraphale’s thighs to straddle him.

Breathing hard, the Angel leans back against the wall of the bath, letting Crowley take over.

Crowley reaches between them to grasp Aziraphale’s cock.

’D’you know how incredible your cunt feels around my cock every time I fuck you,’ he murmurs, enjoying Aziraphale’s blatant arousal. ‘Let me show you how good a warm wet cunt feels, hmm?’

Lining them up, Crowley slowly lets himself sink onto Aziraphale’s cock, sighing. The Angel’s thickness stretches him just right, making him moan at how full he feels as he takes Aziraphale all the way inside. Bottoming out, Crowley wiggles in Aziraphale’s lap, immensely pleased.

Aziraphale is watching him with wide eyes, his jaw slack.

‘I’ve thought about this for a long time,’ Crowley breathes. ‘Fuck, I knew you’d feel amazing inside me.’

Leaning forward, Crowley kisses Aziraphale deep and filthy, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. Aziraphale quickly grabs Crowley’s waist, and for several seconds, they just kiss, joined below the water.

Crowley doesn’t give Aziraphale warning before he moves. He lifts his hips until Aziraphale’s cockhead catches at his entrance, and slams back down, taking in the Angel in one swift move.

‘Ohh!’ Aziraphale cries out, his eyes rolling back.

Digging his fingers into Aziraphale’s broad shoulders, Crowley moves his hips fluidly, riding the Angel’s cock increasingly harder. Aziraphale is hard and thick inside him and Crowley groans appreciatively at the feel of him massaging his cunt.

Water splashes about them from the force of Crowley’s movements as he fucks himself on Aziraphale. The Angel looks gone, his eyes fluttering shut and his lips parted in an endless cry.

Crowley can feel his climax approaching. Gritting his teeth, he deliberately clenches down on Aziraphale, squeezing his prick with every upward movement of his hips, determined to make the Angel finish first.

‘C’mon, angel, give me one more,’ he grunts, bouncing on Aziraphale’s lap. ‘You’ll come for me again, won’t you? Fill up my pussy with your come?’

Another thrust, twice, thrice more and Aziraphale sobs Crowley’s name as his cock spurts inside the Demon.

The feel of it makes Crowley shudder. He fucks down on Aziraphale frantically until his orgasm crests, his walls pulsing around that lovely cock inside him.

The Angel is leaning bonelessly against the edge of the pool, panting. With a satisfied shiver, Crowley lets his softening prick slip out of him. He settles on the ledge beside Aziraphale, who immediately leans into Crowley’s side.

‘So, what’s the verdict? Losing your cock virginity feel good?’ He asks with a low chuckle.

Aziraphale nods with a tired hum. ‘It felt nice.’

That’s a bit underwhelming, Crowley thinks.

‘Next time, I’ll take you up my arse. You thought my pussy was tight? Just you wait,’ he tells Aziraphale with a lazy chuckle.

The Angel blushes a little and he gives Crowley a small smile. But again, he doesn’t look as enthused as Crowley might have thought he’d be.

Crowley fixes him with a discerning look. ‘So what feels better for you, now that you’ve tried both? Fucking or being fucked?’

For Crowley personally, being a Demon of Lust means he enjoys both, in any and all forms, with any and all genitalia. But he’s beginning to suspect that isn’t true for the Angel.

Opening his mouth, Aziraphale hesitates just a second too long. ‘I like both,’ he says quickly.

‘You have a preference, don’t you?’ Crowley says shrewdly.

‘No, I dearly enjoyed both. We can do whatever you like, my dear.’

Crowley raises an eyebrow. The Angel is not being wholly truthful.

He won’t push him, however 

If Aziraphale wants something from him, he will have to use his words - and Crowley will teach him that.

~***~

Crowley had waited two thousand years for Aziraphale to fall into his arms. He is nothing if not a master at playing the long game - and compared to what he’s accomplished so far, teaching Aziraphale his new lesson is barely breaking a sweat.

After their new tryst at the Roman bath house, Crowley keeps that particular effort for the next five times they get together for sex.

He has Aziraphale please his cunt the way Crowley has been pleasuring him for all of these years, and then makes the Angel fuck him, hard and fast.

The experience is great every time, but after the third meeting, he sees Aziraphale start growing frustrated at the end of their couplings.

Crowley hides a knowing smile. He has a very good idea on what is bothering Aziraphale - but the Angel has to say it.

Aziraphale lasts five more similar sexual encounters, but then he breaks at the following meeting. He shows up with a cunt, and upon seeing that Crowley is back to wearing his cock this time, Aziraphale positively lights up.

Until Crowley, supine on the bed and stroking himself idly, tells the Angel to swap his pussy for a prick.

‘You’re going to fuck me while I jerk myself off.’

Aziraphale’s mouth goes tight, his previous light flickering out. He nods without a word and does everything Crowley demands of him - but at the end, when Crowley gives his arse a playful slap and prepares to leave with a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck, the Angel grabs his hand.

‘Crowley, I … might we…?’

Crowley raises his eyebrows quizzically. ‘Might we what?’

‘If you’re free and there’s time to …’

‘Yes?’

Aziraphale is red in the face and avoiding his eyes. ‘Maybe we could … you could -’

‘What, Aziraphale?’

‘Inside me,’ he whispers.

A slow smile twists Crowley’s lips. ‘’Course, angel,’ he says sweetly. ‘Whatever you want.’

He takes his time, preparing Aziraphale the human way, first with his tongue and then his fingers, until the Angel is slick and squirming in his arms, begging for Crowley.

The first push of his cock inside has Aziraphale keening in a way Crowley hasn’t heard from him since the Roman bath house. By the time Crowley has fucked him through two more orgasms, the Angel is a shivering mess.

Braced up on his forearms above Aziraphale and still buried inside him, Crowley leans down to hiss in his ear, ‘There now, was that so hard? Asking for what you want?’

Blinking rapidly, Aziraphale stares up at him.

Crowley chuckles. ‘Here’s the thing, Aziraphale. You come to my bed, I fuck you however I like. If you want something, you need to use your words and tell me what you want. Understand?’

He drops a kiss on Aziraphale’s parted lips.

‘You weren’t fully honest before, were you? You do have a preference.’

This time, Aziraphale nods, looking embarrassed and reluctant.

‘And? Use your words.’

‘I,’ Aziraphale clears his throat, ‘I really do like, um, making love to you. But I … I think I get more pleasure from … from …’

Crowley decides to take pity on him. ‘Being fucked?’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale whispers.

‘Like this?’ Crowley rolls his hips, grinding his still hard cock inside the Angel. Aziraphale moans, arousal flashing anew on his face, and for the next several minutes, very little talking is to be had.

Afterwards, Aziraphale snuggles close to Crowley and asks, looking anxious, ‘Do you dislike it, that I prefer being on the receiving end? I mean, I don’t intend to be _every_ time, of course not. I certainly wouldn’t want you to miss out on any pleasure -’

‘It’s fine, angel. I like fucking you. Most of my best orgasms are with you,’ Crowley tells him in a moment of candour that surprises even him.

Blushing, Aziraphale gives him a look brimming with emotion. He pulls Crowley into a kiss that feels far more romantic than the ones they usually share in bed. Crowley lets him have it.

‘Besides, I’m not missing out,’ he continues, sliding off the bed to get dressed. ‘I have plenty of assignments with all sorts of debauchery to be getting on with.’

All of a sudden and at once, Aziraphale’s face falls. ‘Oh…’

Crowley catches the reaction. Lips twitching, he leans across the bed to give Aziraphale one more kiss. ‘Well, gotta go.’

‘Seduction tonight?’ Aziraphale asks tonelessly.

‘Yep,’ Crowley lies.

The old jealousy suffuses through the room, stifling in its intensity. Crowley turns away to pull on his clothes, hiding his smile.

~***~

Sex with a jealous Aziraphale is mind-blowing.

Despite, or perhaps _because_ of the fact they’re already sleeping together, that particular quality of Aziraphale never fails to arise to the occasion.

Crowley finds it’s not limited only to mentions of his seduction assignments. Aziraphale’s jealousy makes itself known even when they’re together and Crowley unwittingly turns on his thrall, drawing flirtatious gazes, talk and even bold touches from susceptible humans in the vicinity.

Sometimes, Crowley turns on his charms not so unwittingly as well.

Because the sex later is, indeed, mind-blowing.

Already a passionate and demanding thing in bed on normal days, Aziraphale on these jealous occasions becomes overwhelming in his attention to Crowley between the sheets. He begs for more as much as he gives more, seemingly driven by a hidden fire to prove to Crowley that he will never find a better fuck on the planet than Aziraphale.

Sex with a jealous Aziraphale means hours upon hours of endless, filthy, gratifying fucking.

Crowley is more than happy to indulge, and indulge he does for centuries and millennia.

A bout of jealousy also means upping Crowley’s ongoing habit of buying the occasional gift* for Aziraphale, presenting him with books and other baubles he thinks the Angel will like. Crowley doesn't necessarily think of them as apologies; just little things to soothe Aziraphale’s ensuing unhappiness and bad mood when Crowley is with someone else.

(* Sometimes, Crowley finds himself giving Aziraphale gifts for no concrete reason at all. He comes across some ridiculously heavy volume he knows Aziraphale will enjoy, pays up a hefty amount if not outright steal it, and then returns the Angel’s ecstatic smile with a nonchalant one of his own.

It doesn’t feel like a waste even if the day doesn’t end with them in bed. Crowley doesn’t think too closely on it.)

In all honesty, it’s not a chore to give Aziraphale the things he wants; not when a little bit of caring attention and sex are enough for Crowley to reap his rewards, ultimately making life much easier.

He only has to string together a few words about _cancelling each other out_ , getting to meet up more often, and having more time to relax, enjoy each other’s company and have _fun_ \- and Aziraphale agrees to Crowley’s brilliant suggestion of striking a professional work Arrangement between them, easy as anything.

Decked out in his silver armour and reminding Crowley sharply of the _Guardian of the Eastern Gate_ , Aziraphale looks at him through his visor and says, quietly, ‘Yes.’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Crowley later agrees against Aziraphale’s lips, shushing his moans with passionate kisses as they rock together inside Crowley’s tent that night, the Angel soft and warm beneath him.

Wrapped up in Crowley’s arms afterwards, Aziraphale admits his worries about Sir Lancelot and his implications on the king’s marriage to Queen Guinevere.

 _Bingo,_ Crowley thinks, mind whirling on what he’s going to do for his next job as the Black Knight.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine, angel,’ is what he croons into Aziraphale’s hair, kissing his temple.

~***~

In thousands of years, Crowley has found that a good fuck is never a waste of his time - but in recent years, sex appears to be losing its lustre in some incomprehensible way.

He could be fucking someone for pleasure outside of jobs, but sometimes, his partners never seem to look right, sound right, _feel_ right. There are increasingly frequent instances when Crowley finds himself losing interest and leaving some confused human in bed halfway.

It’s mildly concerning to say the least, considering that Crowley is literally made to fuck people into giving up their souls to Hell.

Crowley is going through another phase of this in London when, a few weeks after he’s tricked Aziraphale into covering for him in Edinburgh, he comes across a human who, _finally_ , catches his genuine interest.

She appears both startled and incredulous to be receiving such attention from someone like Crowley. He doesn't understand why; humans and their ever-changing silly standards on what constitutes beauty, he thinks.

As far as Crowley is concerned, she is _lovely_ , her body soft and plump, her hair light and fair, and her eyes a match for the sky in their blueness.

She blushes the whole time, embarrassed and self-conscious, though she has no reason to be. When Crowley has her nude and writhing under him, he fills his palms with the rolls around her hips and his mouth with her bouncing breasts as he fucks her. He realises she was a virgin only after he breaches her and then thinks it’s a shame that no one else has had the fortune to taste such a sweet morsel.

At least she got great sex for her first time, Crowley chuckles to himself as they get dressed later. She will be ruined for it for a good long while.

Leaving the rooms he has rented at an inn for his current stay in London, the girl suddenly but shyly kisses him. She bids him good night and hurries away, positively glowing.

It is then Crowley sees Aziraphale, who has just entered the inn, disheveled after a long travel.

Breaking out into a grin, Crowley saunters over. ‘Hey, angel. How was Edinburgh?’

Aziraphale is staring after the plump young woman, his mouth set in a hard line. ‘Did you get another assignment here?’

‘Nah, I’m off the clock.’

‘So just … for pleasure?’

Crowley shrugs. ‘Sex can become tedious when it’s for work, but sometimes you just want to have fun, y’know? And if it ends up with one more soul to be sealed and delivered to Hell, then that’s just a bonus.’

‘Like that poor girl?’

Crowley starts to grin, sensing the jealousy bubbling within Aziraphale. ‘She’s fine. She now knows how that lush body of hers deserves to be worshipped. And I got a good time out of it, so win-win.’

‘Do you still have a lot of sex outside of assignments?’ Aziraphale asks very quietly.

Crowley looks carefully at him. Aziraphale is jealous, yes, but there is more to his tone now, his whole being thrumming with an energy Crowley can’t define.

‘What are you getting at, Aziraphale?’

He takes a deep breath. ‘I need to talk to you.’

Crowley leads Aziraphale to his set of rooms. After he closes and locks the door behind them, he sees Aziraphale staring at the bed where the sheets are still mussed up from Crowley’s latest tumble in them.

Turning to him, Aziraphale says, wringing his hands but his voice quiet and unwavering, ‘If you need to - to feel good outside of assignments, why don’t you come to me?’

It takes a moment for Crowley to process this. He raises an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest.

‘You want me to come to you every time I want a fuck?’ he says, somewhat incredulous. ‘I could be halfway across the world on a job, and I’m supposed to miracle myself over whenever I want pussy?’

‘Or cock,’ Aziraphale mutters. ‘I don’t mind. Whatever you want.’

‘Angel…’

‘Your lot don’t seem to mind how much you use your powers, unlike mine. You could come to me, whenever you liked.’

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley says, more sharply.

‘I can satisfy you,’ Aziraphale blurts, meeting Crowley’s gaze with startling intensity. ‘I know I’m not as experienced as you are, but I - I’ve always been a quick study and - and …’ Aziraphale’s voice lowers, ‘you always seemed quite satisfied every time that we…’

Crowley regards him for a long moment. ‘What exactly are you asking for? To be lovers? Is that it? You want my sexual fidelity?’ His mouth curls over the last word, unable to suppress a sneer.

Aziraphale exhales, clasping his hands together. ‘I want you,’ he says bluntly. ‘Am I overstepping? Are you - are you completely against having a … monogamous relationship?’ The unspoken _with me_ at the end couldn’t have been louder.

Crowley falls silent for a long minute, staring at Aziraphale. A part of him is contemplating the sheer hilarity of an Angel- or anyone else, for that matter - asking for _commitment_ from a Demon.

But the other part is seriously putting thought into the proposal. That’s what it is, isn’t it?

In the older days, he’d just wanted to get Aziraphale to spread his legs for him - and once he achieved that and quickly realised it wouldn’t be a one-time thing, he has been more than content over the past few millennia.

But now Aziraphale is asking for more. A lot more. And in the process, he is revealing the true depth of his feelings and attachment to Crowley … and with that, the chance for Crowley to keep Aziraphale bound to him - forever, essentially.

Crowley considers it. Aziraphale is not wrong; Crowley certainly is never not satisfied after taking the Angel to bed. And humans _have_ been losing their lustre outside of assignments lately.

To Crowley’s mild surprise, the answer isn’t all that difficult. ‘All right.’

Aziraphale goes completely still, staring at Crowley with utter surprise, disbelief and _hope_.

‘R-really?’ he whispers.

With a smile, Crowley crosses the room to gently pull Aziraphale into a kiss. The Angel immediately melts into his arms.

They hold each other for a long time, just kissing slow and deep, until Crowley’s hands find their way to Aziraphale’s buttons. The Angel helps Crowley to undress him, them, and when Crowley pushes Aziraphale back towards his bed*, he goes eagerly.

(* Crowley miracles fresh sheets without thinking about it.)

His body yields to Crowley’s mouth, his fingers and his cock as easily as if he were moulded purely for this. Afterwards, when Crowley murmurs in his ear, ‘Give me your cock, angel’, Aziraphale does so gladly, watching with awe and adoration as Crowley rocks down on his hips lazily.

He brings Aziraphale to the edge of pleasure, again and again, throughout the night. And every time the Angel cries out his release, it is to sweet nothings of _darling_ , _sweetheart_ and _dove_ murmured into his skin.

Curling into Crowley’s body hours later as the sun begins to rise, Aziraphale whispers, ‘Call me sweetheart again.’

‘Get some rest, sweetheart,’ Crowley obliges and Aziraphale lays his head on his shoulder, his beautiful body wrung dry and satiated.

Crowley thinks he’s never seen the Angel look so happy and serene as he does in that moment.

~***~

A new chapter opens in their lives, one that Crowley had not really seen coming.

For the first few decades, Crowley keeps his word to be Aziraphale’s exclusive lover only most of the time. He makes a few exceptions every now and then when he comes across a human that tickles his fancy, or if he is too far away from Aziraphale to bother expending his energy on flying or long-travel miracles.

But as the years continue to roll by, these exceptions become fewer and far in between. Crowley grows aware that the few humans he fucks now bear some likeness to Aziraphale, whether it is the light shade of their hair, the blueness of their eyes, an enticing shyness to their smile, or the soft roundness of their build.

And then the allure of these humans wash off too, for reasons Crowley doesn’t fully understand - because why should he satisfy himself with weak one-night stands when he has the real thing, his Angel, waiting to please him whenever Crowley wants?

By the next century, Crowley has stopped sleeping with humans outside of his temptation assignments altogether.

There is a part of him that thinks he ought to be bothered by this, that perhaps it is a poor reflection on his libido as a Demon of Lust.

But whenever he is with Aziraphale, who is unfailingly delighted to see him no matter the situation, Crowley is very much aware that his libido has not taken a hit at all. It seems to have just … converged on a singular focal point.

And when he’s lying with Aziraphale in his arms after, warm and sated, Crowley can no longer remember why he thought this ought to be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: the Mt Vesuvius scene (79 AD) at the end of Ch 3 should chronologically take place after the Rome scene (41 AD) at the beginning of this chapter - I switched them because, after Aziraphale starts having sex with Crowley in Ch 3, I wanted to use Vesuvius to highlight how Crowley uses their new sexual intimacy to emotionally manipulate Aziraphale again, this time to weaken his allegiance to Heaven and make him more dependent on Crowley. 
> 
> On the other hand, the Rome scenes here in Ch 4 begin with a glimpse into the kind of banter/convo Crowley has with Aziraphale when they hang out, and then concerns Crowley getting Aziraphale to explore different sexual acts and preferences - both of which are much lighter in tone and serve more as ‘filler’ scenes before we move on with the plot in the second half ~~and yes, I use the word ‘plot’ very loosely in this fic lmao~~  
>  Like it’s not a big deal and the dates aren’t stated explicitly, but 79 AD coming before 41 AD was bothering me so I’m just laying it all out heh
> 
> That said, I’m very curious to know your thoughts on this chapter, especially the developments towards the end :D
> 
> Drop a comment to make my day or come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


	5. my one and only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, **mind the tags** , guys!

A little detail about Aziraphale that Crowley has found hard to miss over the millennia is that, despite his general intelligence and wit, the Angel is too damn naive and nice to humans.

Humans that don’t necessarily return the courtesy.

There was one instant when Crowley had to step in to stop a bunch of villagers from burning Aziraphale at the stake. All because the Angel simply couldn’t stop healing their sick despite their rising suspicions and superstitions.

Another memorable encounter involved Crowley, who had been leading a bunch of highwaymen, saving Aziraphale from his own villains when they encountered the Angel on a deserted country road. Aziraphale had been trying to negotiate with sword-wielding brigands using kind reprimands instead of a damn miracle.

After every incident, Crowley rounds on Aziraphale with exasperation, and Aziraphale stubbornly maintains his stance on teaching kindness through example.

They bicker and argue back and forth, but the rescues always pay off afterwards anyway; because the Angel never fails to _thank_ Crowley.

And he thanks Crowley _well_ \- so well that when they curl around each other later, sweaty and satisfied, Crowley doesn’t really mind having to save Aziraphale’s arse from whatever new trouble it lands in.

Perhaps Crowley ought to have considered a bit earlier that Aziraphale’s tendency to attract danger would eventually compromise _him_ as well.

He learns this lesson after the frankly ridiculous circumstances that land Aziraphale a date with the guillotine in revolutionary France.

Crowley is filled with disbelief when he enters the Bastille, but Aziraphale acts all cute and coy about it. He rolls his eyes and sets Aziraphale free because, well, he’d rather not condemn the Angel to decades of paperwork in Heaven, leaving Crowley to grow bored down on Earth.

Just like all the previous times.

Aziraphale offers to treat him to lunch but Crowley pays the bill anyway, making the Angel look at him with smouldering eyes.

Crowley looks back with amusement, already knowing where this is going.

He books a room at a lodge where they can wait for the next ship back to England, but they don’t even make it inside before Aziraphale presses him against the door.

He tastes like strawberries and cream, and the expensive wine Crowley had ordered with their crepes. Moaning into Crowley’s mouth, Aziraphale grinds their hips together, rubbing the bulging evidence of his arousal against the Demon.

‘I thought you’d already thanked me with lunch,’ Crowley teases as the Angel presses closer.

‘I did,’ Aziraphale whispers between wet, hungry kisses to his lips. ‘Now I must thank you for paying for lunch.’

Crowley chuckles, digging his hands into Aziraphale’s arse to rub their clothed cocks harder together.

‘You’re spoilt, sweetheart.’

‘You spoil me,’ Aziraphale says breathily, his voice breaking with desire and need. ‘And now I’m going to spoil you in that bed, darling. You’ve been so good to me…’

Too aroused to say anything else, Crowley miracles the door to their room open, unwilling to take his hands off Aziraphale even once.

Later on the bed, he has Aziraphale nude and undulating in his lap when Crowley finally smells it - a subtle odour of hellfire and brimstone. It’s growing stronger and Crowley realises, with chilling shock, that the smell must have been around for a while; he’s just been too occupied with Aziraphale to immediately pick up on it.

Acting on instinct, Crowley stops time with Aziraphale caught in it.

He slides the naked Angel off his lap and onto the bed. After swiftly covering him with the blankets, Crowley hurries out of the room, snapping his half undone clothes back into place.

The source of the odour is waiting for him outside, unaffected by the time stop; Crowley had made sure of that.

‘Hastur.’

~***~

It is, by far, one of his worst experiences with Hell - and by definition, there is none that’s not bad Down There.

Crowley is summoned to the throne room, where he is icily informed by Beelzebub, in the presence of Dagon, Hastur, Ligur and an uncomfortable-looking junior Demon, that his _fraternising_ with the Enemy has at last come to light.

The junior Demon is made to step forward. Scratching at his dual hair horns, he awkwardly reveals that he has been deployed on-and-off to keep an eye on infernal movements and field agents on Earth.

He’d seen Crowley leave the Bastille with Aziraphale, his traitorous saving of an Angel of Heaven implicit.

Under the dangerous glares of his superiors, Crowley tenses for a moment, feeling strangely _caught_.

But then he remembers himself -

‘The Principality Aziraphale?’ Crowley drawls, relaxing back into a careless slouch. ‘Yeah. I’m fucking him.’

There is a ripple of shock across the room.

‘Yep. He’s the other side’s representative on Earth. I’ve been seducing him for a long time now.’

‘Why -?’ Dagon begins to bluster, looking torn between disgust and confusion.

‘I get him to give up information on what Heaven is up to and his assignments. Then I go out and do my wiling.’ Crowley gives a careless shrug. ‘Makes it easier to fuck up Upstairs’ work.’

The murderous looks are beginning to dissipate, replaced with grudging appreciation and curiosity.

Except for Hastur. ‘And he gives you all of this information willingly?’ he asks dubiously, eyes narrowed.

‘Fuck an Angel right and you can get him to sing anything,’ Crowley smirks to titillating laughter. ‘He’s completely infatuated and I keep tabs on him.’

‘But why in the blessed heavens would you _save_ him from discorporation?’ Hastur snaps.

At that, there is a murmur of ascent from the other Demons.

‘’Cause I don’t wanna deal with any replacements. Imagine, I already got this one in my thrall, now I gotta go stick my dick in another? Besides,’ Crowley adds, deciding to go all in, ‘he might even properly … _Fall_ for me.’

It’s almost comical how far the bad pun goes in turning the situation in his favour. Crowley tries to hide his relief when Beelzebub, Dagon and even Ligur finally look properly impressed, snickering loudly.

‘Bad on you, Crowley,’ the Prince of Hell praises with reluctant respect.

Crowley gives a feral grin. ‘Always trying my worst, lord.’

He is itching to leave but Hastur insists on escorting Crowley back to one of the Earth portals. They’ve barely arrived when the Duke abruptly turns on him.

‘Do you expect us to believe the principality is really nothing more than your feathered little slut?’

Crowley stops in his tracks, raising an insolent eyebrow. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I mean, _Crawly_ , is he not your dear _sweetheart_?’

For a moment, Crowley can’t speak.

Hastur’s lips peel back in an ugly leer. ‘That’s right, Crawly. Eric followed you from the Bastille to your room. He reported it all to me first - how he saw you kissing and giggling together like lovesick _humans_.’

The Duke takes a menacing step forward. ‘Are you sure you’re only fucking the wanker, _darling_?’

Crowley suppresses a shudder at the bastardisation of that endearment on Hastur’s slimy tongue. He couldn’t have sounded more different from Aziraphale.

‘D’you really think an Angel will stick around if he thinks it’s only sex?’ He hisses, lips curling in a snarl. ‘He wants to be lovers and I invest all the fucking intimacy he wants. So yes, _Duke_ , I kiss him. I laugh with him. I call him mine.’

Hastur draws away, his eyes like empty voids. ‘Whatever you say, Crawly.’

Crowley sneers contemptuously at him. ‘At the end of the day, I have a direct look into Heaven’s doings _and_ a warm body to fuck. More than can be said for _you_ , eh?’

With that, Crowley spins on his heel and steps into the portal.

When he comes back to their rented room, Crowley snaps off a miracle to return to his previous state of undress, eases Aziraphale back into his lap, and resumes their kiss before starting up time again.

He doesn’t say a word about what went down Below.

Aziraphale pushes him down on the mattress and takes him inside his arse.

‘My hero,’ he chuckles, only half-teasing, before he begins to fuck down on Crowley’s cock, moaning.

Crowley lies back and lets him do as he pleases, frantically thinking,

 _I need insurance_.

~***~

Crowley considers his options for decades.

At the end of the day, there are only two things that can properly destroy a Demon - a weapon forged and blessed in Heaven itself, or its manmade equivalent.

Crowley longingly thinks about the flaming sword Aziraphale used to wield, lost from human hands to the sands of time. There isn’t a chance in heaven that he can creep into Upstairs’ armoury to steal another. Crowley is desperate, not suicidal.

That leaves just the one option, really.

He thinks he’s making the right call by asking Aziraphale. Not only can the Angel simply waltz into a church to acquire holy water or bless some himself, it doesn’t occur to Crowley that Aziraphale will _refuse_.

He has never asked any material object of the Angel before after all, and this is something incredibly important to him. He has made that clear.

But still, there it is. Aziraphale, for the first time in as long as Crowley can remember, says no.

Crowley gapes at him, trying to wrap his mind around it all. The situation becomes hideous, and fast.

‘I’m asking you for just one thing -’

‘I’m not an idiot, Crowley!’

He calls it _insurance_. Aziraphale calls it a _suicide pill_.

‘That’s not what I want it for,’ Crowley snaps, desperation and anger coalescing within him, but then Aziraphale says it -

He uses that word, the same one Hell did.

 _Fraternising_.

And Crowley stares at him, feeling his temper and something far uglier pull taut inside him. The thing snaps.

‘I have lots of other people to _fraternise_ with, angel,’ he spits the words like venom.

Aziraphale is shaking, looking angry and hurt where he has no right to be. ‘Yes, I know you do.’

And then the Angel is turning away and Crowley storms back to his expensive flat in Mayfair. He goes to bed and doesn’t get up until twenty years later.

When he does, he wishes he hadn’t.

~***~

Some of his anger and disappointment has cooled off, as per the effects of a good nap, and Crowley sets out to find Aziraphale again. Perhaps two decades were enough for the Angel to calm down as well, and properly hear Crowley out this time.

The first sign of something gone wrong is when Crowley finds Aziraphale’s bookshop - the one the Angel had worked so hard to open for decades - dark and empty. It’s evening already andlong past dinnertime.

Aziraphale never leaves the bookshop at this time of night, unless it was with Crowley before their fight.

At first, panic tightens its noose around Crowley’s throat. He remembers being dragged down to Hell and accused of _fraternising with the Enemy_ \- and for a moment, he fearfully wonders if Heaven has finally caught on and recalled Aziraphale, punished him…

No, no. Forcing himself to calm down, Crowley concentrates and, yes, he can feel it - Aziraphale’s ethereal aura. Faint but on the earthly plane of existence. The Angel is still here.

Turning his back on the bookshop, Crowley focuses on Aziraphale’s essence and begins to walk.

Confusion is the first thing he feels when Crowley’s senses lead him to Portland Place, a feeling that increases with every step he takes until he reaches the destination.

It takes all of a minute for Crowley to discern what kind of place this is, and when he does, the thought of Aziraphale in there makes him stop breathing.

It takes even less than that to make his way inside. To heaven with this place being the most exclusive gentlemen’s club this side of England; if Crowley wants in, he’s in.

As he pulls invisibility around him and stifles his occult aura, Crowley finds himself _hoping_ , hoping that he won’t see what he suspects that he will see.

But this is Aziraphale. Crowley doesn’t know why the Angel is here, but this is Aziraphale and he’s not the sort of being to -

He is.

Crowley stops dead in his tracks, invisible in every sense in a room bustling with affluent men and one Angel smoking cigars, sipping brandy and flirting.

The Angel is not smoking or drinking. But he is -

Perfectly still, Crowley watches Aziraphale smile at the flame-haired gentleman leaning into his side, his head dipped low to speak intimately in the Angel’s ear. He sees the brush of fingers over a fair, soft hand; an invitation.

The flame-haired man begins to walk away, but he looks over his shoulder pointedly. Aziraphale hesitates, looking conflicted. He follows.

Crowley watches them leave the busy main hall, to disappear down a corridor and into another room. The door shuts behind them with a meaningful _click_.

Thirty seconds outside that room is all that Crowley needs. He’s a Demon of Lust. He senses certain things and he knows what’s happening behind that door without having to look.

He knows exactly what Aziraphale, the Angel who wanted to be his lover and begged Crowley to be his, is doing.

Crowley leaves.

He leaves the club, leaves Portland Place, leaves the Angel.

Aziraphale is not the only one who knows where to find closeted queer men to fuck, Crowley thinks to himself with a sneer, the blood roaring in his ears.

In less than an hour, Crowley is checking into a cheap hotel room with a middle-aged fair-haired man in tow.

Crowley doesn’t ask for his name. He doesn’t ask for Crowley’s.

The man looks nervous but awestruck as Crowley makes quick work of their clothes, allowing the Demon to take the lead. He is fit and handsome, but he’s …

He doesn’t feel right at all, Crowley thinks as he manhandles him towards the bed. His blond hair is the wrong shade, and his hazel eyes and slim hips are nearly enough to make Crowley’s erection wilt.

The man tries to kiss him. Crowley spins him around and shoves him face down on the bed.

‘You lie there. I don’t want you to make a sound, d’you hear?’

‘Y-yes?’ he says uncertainly.

‘What did I just say?’ Crowley hisses, shoving a lubricated finger in his arse without preamble.

The man doesn’t say anything else, but he can’t keep quiet when Crowley finally pushes in. Crowley doesn’t berate him again, but he holds him down with a firm hand between his shoulder blades.

He is not gentle with him, he is not careful. Crowley pounds the man into the thin mattress, fucking him through three orgasms, each more painful than the one before, but he doesn’t stop.He’s not even close. The man takes it all without complaint.

Crowley’s cock is aching, his eyes are aching, and something else deep inside is aching too.

He blocks out the man’s wails of pleasure and closes his eyes, thinking of hair the colour of sunshine glinting off snowdrops, eyes bluer than cloudless summer skies, a soft body with the perfect amount of padding, and hot silken walls that hug his prick just right.

‘Angel,’ Crowley gasps, nearly driving the man into the headboard as he finally comes.

Silence descends quickly when the moment passes. As soon as he catches his breath, Crowley pulls out and leaves the man on the bed.

‘Who’s Angel?’ The man is sitting up, looking curiously his way.

Crowley doesn’t answer as he pulls on his trousers.

‘Can I see you again? I think we can help each other.’

At that, Crowley stops and stares.

The blond man smiles sadly at him. ‘I suppose you could say I have an angel, too. He doesn’t know how I feel and he .. he’s getting married in a month. He can never be mine…’ The man looks down at his lap for a long moment, clenching his fists before he looks back up at Crowley.

‘So, how about it? We get together now and then and you can pretend I’m your angel and I’ll pretend you’re mine.’

Crowley regards him, trying to imagine a repeat performance of tonight; fucking a poor substitute and forcing out a weak orgasm.

He finishes dressing and stalks to the door. ‘’M going back to sleep.’

~***~

When Crowley wakes up next time, the world has gone to hell. Twice.

He rolls his eyes. Figures. Humans always know how to fuck themselves over worse than any Demon can plan.

Sitting up in bed, the memories from the last several hours he was awake come flooding in. Crowley considers going back to sleep.

But the sirens overhead are loud and he can’t avoid his duties forever. With a sigh, Crowley reluctantly drags himself out of bed, familiarises himself with just how much shit the humans have succeeded in throwing at the fan, and then steps out to help them make it worse.

While he’s at it, he sends a memo to Hell, shamelessly taking credit for starting what is apparently the second - _second?!_ \- World War. And just like that, his inactivity over the past eighty years is immediately wiped clean from his infernal slate.

Crowley gets to work.

Over the next several months as he infiltrates British counterintelligence, Crowley fleetingly thinks of Aziraphale. He can sense the Angel’s ethereal aura, close enough to discern he is still in London, and calm enough to indicate he is safe even among all this shit.

More than once, Crowley considers popping by.

Then he remembers the club and the flame-haired man.

Crowley sticks to war. It’s easier to deal with.

But then, _of course_ the Angel goes and gets himself in trouble. Crowley should’ve seen it coming a mile away. Aziraphale is a danger magnet and they are in the middle of a fucking world war.

When he gets the news of the special ‘book deal’ and double-crossing that is to go down, Crowley considers for all of five seconds just staying out of it. It’s not his bloody problem and Aziraphale can deal with a few decades of paperwork Upstairs.

Then those five seconds pass and Crowley is standing in front of a church, listening to the distant wail of sirens.

Of course it has to be a fucking church.

Blessing under his breath, Crowley stomps inside.

~***~

There is no way Crowley can pull off a miracle of such magnitude with his focus continually derailed by his burning feet. Fucking consecrated ground.

So he shoves the task of saving both of their skins into Aziraphale’s hands. Thankfully, the Angel’s trusting naivety, which nearly got him shot in the face, is not a fair reflection of his cleverness; he gets Crowley’s message and delivers perfectly.

Right before the bomb’s impact, Crowley catches sight of the bag of Aziraphale’s books, there in the clutches of that shite man.

He focuses his energy. The church blows to smithereens around them.

As the smoke begins to clear and Crowley’s feet finally cool down, he is faced with Aziraphaleproperly for the first time tonight.

The Angel is aglow in the ambiance of the little fires burning all around them, somehow soft-looking even amidst destruction. Behind him is an eagle lectern, its lopsided wings ablaze and framing Aziraphale as if they were his own.

 _Fallen Angel_ , the thought rises, unbidden, in Crowley’s mind.

Aziraphale is staring at him, blue eyes wide and hands fumbling with his hat. His lips part as if to speak, but nothing comes out.

Crowley pushes the heavy bag of books into Aziraphale’s arms, causing him to drop the hat.

‘Lift home?’ he offers, his voice devoid of emotion.

Aziraphale doesn’t reply, gazing down at his books in mute shock. Slowly, he lifts his gaze.

Startled, Crowley realises Aziraphale’s eyes are wet.

Without a word, Aziraphale drops the bag onto the rubble. And then, with eagle wings burning at his back, he reaches for Crowley, gently removing his dark glasses to kiss him soundly on the mouth.

‘I love you.’

The confession is whispered against his lips in a trembling voice. Crowley opens his eyes, meeting Aziraphale’s own which are so close they are out of focus.

‘I love you,’ Aziraphale repeats, and then his arms are around Crowley’s neck and he’s kissing him again, his lips soft and warm and passionate against Crowley’s.

Crowley’s mind is reeling, trying to process what is happening and those impossible words Aziraphale just uttered.

He doesn’t quite understand the point of Aziraphale’s confession, but he understands the point of kissing.

Especially when Aziraphale parts his lips and licks across the seam of Crowley’s mouth; the invitation, the _demand_ , is crystal clear.

The Angel is pressing up flush against Crowley’s body, solid and plush in his arms, and _fuck_ , it has been so goddamn long. Crowley might have been asleep for the better part of a century, but he feels the weight of their separation.

Faintly, it occurs to him that he has a reason for being angry with Aziraphale, but the Angel’s tongue is in his mouth and Crowley can’t spare a single thought to anything else right now. Aziraphale is warm and real, and Crowley is already starting to feel overheated, his body reacting to the Angel’s touch.

‘I love you,’ Aziraphale is whispering again between their heated kisses. ‘I’ve missed you, oh, how I’ve missed you! So _much_ …’

His hands are pulling at Crowley’s jacket, the movements impatient and oh, so familiar.

‘Please,’ Aziraphale is moaning into his mouth, ‘I need you, darling. I need you right now.’

And he is pulling Crowley down to the ground, right there in the middle of the ruined church.

‘Angel,’ Crowley grunts in surprise, but Aziraphale is pulling him close and on top of him. They end up with Aziraphale lying on a slab of the ruined wall, Crowley kneeling between his legs.

Pulling Crowley down into another ardent kiss, Aziraphale reaches between them to fumble with Crowley’s trousers.

Crowley begins to pull away and Aziraphale almost sobs, looking up imploringly with dazed blue eyes.

‘Please,’ he repeats, his voice softer this time but no less saturated with desire and emotion, ‘make love to me.’

With a shuddering exhale, Crowley undoes his belt, rips down his zipper and shoves his trousers down enough to free his straining cock. With deft hands, he tugs off Aziraphale’s brogues and pulls both his trousers and underwear off his legs, leaving the Angel only in his tartan socks and garters.

Resuming their ferocious kiss, Crowley reaches down with a miraculously lubricated hand to slide between the Angel’s arse cheeks. He pulls away in surprise when his fingers find Aziraphale’s hole, slick already and stretched open.

Aziraphale meets his gaze heatedly, his lovely face flushed. ‘Please, I need you. I need you right now.’

With a hiss, Crowley is on him, gripping his leaking prick to press against the Angel’s entrance. Aziraphale arches his back, moaning with anticipation even before he is breached, and then Crowley is sliding inside him, the Angel’s prepared hole stretching easily around his prick.

‘Oh, Crowley,’ Aziraphale cries out, his hands scrabbling at Crowley’s shoulders. ‘Oh, yes, yes, give me more, darling, ohh, oh, I’ve missed you so much -’

Aziraphale breaks off when Crowley begins to rock into him, the movements of his hips fluid and practised from thousands of years of doing this. Within moments, the Angel’s legs are locked around his slim hips, encouraging him to go deeper and harder. His eyes flutter with pleasure as Crowley gradually picks up the pace, thrusting his cock steadily into the Angel’s heat.

Crowley’s breath is already coming hard and fast. He sighs at the familiar feeling of Aziraphale’s supple walls yielding to his cock, hugging him warm and so, so tight.

‘Only you, darling,’ Aziraphale is moaning, beginning to cant his hips to meet Crowley’s. ‘It could only be you…’

‘What about me?’ Crowley grunts, bracing himself up on his forearms to drive deeper into Aziraphale.

The Angel keens with renewed pleasure. ‘My - my books. You saved my books. You remembered. Only you would _ever_ think of me so…’

Crowley takes this in, thinking back to his split-second decision on the books.

Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley’s neck again. ‘Only you, it could only be you. My darling, my love…’

It’s the _my love_ that does it. Crowley looks down at Aziraphale, lying needy and wanton on the broken ground under him, and he remembers.

‘Am I your only love?’ He asks in a low voice, grinding into the Angel.

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale moans. ‘You, Crowley. My one and only.’

‘Did you say all these pretty words when _he_ fucked you as well?’ Crowley hisses.

Eyes flying open, Aziraphale stares up at him. ‘What?’ He chokes.

Crowley punctuates every thrust with words forced through gritted teeth. ‘My love, my darling,’ he repeats mockingly, the aching feeling from that night building inside him again. ‘Is that how you rewarded him, too? Why so confused, angel? Or did you fuck so many men in that club you can’t even remember them?’

Abruptly, understanding dawns. ‘You were there that night,’ Aziraphale whispers. Before Crowley can say another word, Aziraphale says, ‘It was just him. Just the one. I didn’t … there weren’t any others.’

‘Did he make you feel good, angel?’ Crowley growls, thrusting hard enough to make Aziraphale cry out. ‘Did he fill up your greedy little arse the way you like? Did he fuck you for hours?’

‘Crowley -!’

‘Did you scream his name?’

‘I left!’ Aziraphale cries and Crowley stops, buried in him. ‘Yes, I went with him, but I … it wasn’t- it wasn’t right. He didn’t feel right.’ Aziraphale is trembling, his eyes wet again. ‘His hair was red but it was too bright and his eyes were the wrong colour. He … he wasn’t you. So I left.’

Crowley’s arms are shaking with the effort of holding himself up, threatening to give out with the sheer _relief_ flooding him. ‘You left him?’

‘I did.’

Crowley briefly thinks back to the blond man he had picked up out of anger and vengeance that same night.

‘Did he penetrate you, angel?’

‘Only at first,’ Aziraphale admits. ‘But it wasn’t …’ A tear finally escapes, shimmering in the firelight as it rolls down. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I kept wishing it was you. So I left.’

With a hum, Crowley cups Aziraphale’s face gently. He leans down to kiss the tear off. Aziraphale leans into his touch at once, clinging to his shoulders.

‘I’m so terribly sorry about our fight before. I said things I didn’t mean.’

‘Did you mean what you said tonight?’ Crowley asks quietly. ‘That you love me?’

‘I did and I do. I have since … since even before the first time we made love.’

Crowley stills, his eyes widening as it all suddenly clicks. Aziraphale has been in love with him for millennia, since before he even made the decision to give his body to the Demon.

No wonder he didn’t Fall. For Aziraphale, this has never been a submission to Lust.

 _Make love to me._ That’s what Aziraphale always says, isn’t it. Crowley has just never given deep thought to the implications before.

He chokes down a disbelieving laugh. Hell is never going to get Aziraphale. He can tell Beelzebub and Hastur that he’s seducing and fucking an Angel, but that’s not what any of this is to Aziraphale.

Crowley gazes down at the earnest blue eyes, thinking. If he is to parse all of it, a love relationship for Aziraphale means companionship and Crowley’s fidelity - things that he has already been giving Aziraphale for centuries before their fight.

Aziraphale’s confession changes nothing in the grand scheme, really. It just further cements what he already is: Crowley’s - and that is a fact that has long been carved into stone.

So Crowley kisses Aziraphale, soft and sweet enough that it seems to be saying _I love you too_ , and then deep and filthy to seal the deal.

The Angel is his; he has become his willingly, and Crowley drinks the sweetness of it from Aziraphale’s lips.

But when he fucks Aziraphale, it is not sweet this time.

He fucks him hard, wiping away the presence of any other man who has been in here, where they had no right to be. He fucks him raw, leaving behind reminders, painful and branding, of precisely to whom Aziraphale belongs.

Aziraphale embraces all of it with a resounding cry of Crowley’s name, a scream of utter rapture amid the burning remains of a place that was once a little bit of Heaven.

~***~

After dropping Aziraphale at the bookshop, Crowley declines his invitation to come in for a drink.

‘Still got some work to do, angel.’ Namely, hunting down the superiors of those Germans who put a target on Aziraphale.

The Angel looks disappointed. ‘Will you come back sometime?’

‘Sometime,’ Crowley assures him and kisses the disappointed pout off Aziraphale’s lips.

‘I love you,’ Aziraphale breathes again when they part.

‘Hmm,’ Crowley hums noncommittally, unsure of how he is supposed to respond.

During the ride to Soho, he’s had some time to think a bit more about it and, well - Crowley is pretty certain that Aziraphale must be aware that he, as a Demon, can’t exactly…

Does the Angel expect him to say those words back?

Before he can say anything though, Aziraphale says, his voice suddenly low, ‘I am sorry about that man from the club. I never meant to hurt you.’

Crowley waves it off. ‘None of that now. It’s in the past.’

‘And I’m sorry about our fight from … from before that.’ Aziraphale looks anxious, knowing that he is leading them into troubled waters again.

‘Crowley, I can’t … I can’t lose you. These past eighty years were torment enough. The thought of your destruction at the hands of holy water, I can’t bear it. I hope you understand why I refused you, darling.’

‘But that’s just the thing, isn’t it,’ says Crowley, keeping his tone sombre and hurt. ‘You refused me.’

Aziraphale’s eyes widen. ‘My love, as I said -’

‘I’ve never asked anything of you, sweetheart.’ Crowley puts the slightest emphasis on the endearment. ‘All these thousands of years and that insurance was my one request and you said no.’

‘Crowley, please -’

‘But hey, hey, it doesn’t matter now.’ Crowley pulls Aziraphale into his arms and kisses his temple. ‘It’s all right.’

Aziraphale tries to speak again but Crowley shushes him with a long kiss to his lips.

‘Good night, angel. Go on in now, and don’t you worry your pretty noggin over this holy water business.’

From the look Aziraphale gives him, Crowley knows that he will worry, a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to get this out first: over the last chapter and this one, Crowley has been exhibiting increasing symptoms of _feelings_ for Aziraphale, I know - but I want to make it very clear that I do not romanticise/condone any of the shitty things he's done/is doing.
> 
> The sex scene in the ruins of the bombed church was somewhat inspired by this gorgeous [artwork by Whiteley Foster](https://twitter.com/WhiteleyFoster/status/1286443898462785538) \- though the context of their art is infinitely healthier and more loving than what went down in this fic XD
> 
> What do you think about the wild ride Crowley went on this chapter and his reactions?  
> You can also reach me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
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	6. words you don't mean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long! I wrote the previous chapters while I was on leave, but I couldn’t finish this one before I returned to work. But here we are - the conclusion to this dark little tale~
> 
> It’s longer than the previous parts, but I didn’t feel like splitting it. I hope you enjoy, dear readers <3

Love confessions creep into the dialogue after their reconciliation in the charred remains of a church Crowley destroyed* for Aziraphale.

(* Crowley gets a commendation for it, bombing a holy place and all. He doesn’t tell Downstairs the true reason behind it.)

It’s not regular or frequent; there isn’t a particular pattern to it. Days or months may pass between Aziraphale’s expressions of love, depending on seemingly everything from circumstance to simply his mood. The only real eventuality is that it does and will happen, Aziraphale looking Crowley in the eye and saying, quietly, unashamedly,

‘I love you.’

He presses those words to Crowley’s lips before assignments separate them, moans them into his neck when they’re in bed, and sometimes gives them up to the air between them, smiling at him for no reason.

In the beginning of this new turn their relationship is taking, Crowley tenses every time Aziraphale offers those three words. He braces for Aziraphale to look meaningfully at him, expecting to hear the sentiment returned; he keeps waiting to hear the inevitable,

_Do you love me?_

Aziraphale does neither of these things.

He gives Crowley his love and looks no further than that, appearing content enough.

Crowley starts to relax, letting Aziraphale’s confessions wash over him peaceably. There is a part of him, however, that still feels like something is owed to Aziraphale in return for saying it; and if he starts kissing the Angel a bit more often, a bit more thoroughly, on such occasions - well, it’s always pleasing to kiss Aziraphale, anyway.

More pleasing still when kissing leads to other vigorous activities, no longer new but not any less exciting for it.

In this manner, they learn to walk in tandem anew, overcoming the strain of their century-long estrangement. Crowley learns it had been gruelling on Aziraphale - perhaps even more than it had been on him, since the Angel had been conscious for all of it.

For a few moments, Crowley feels vindictive pleasure at the thought, recalling how Aziraphale had refused to hear him out about the holy water and then later that whole business with the gentlemen’s club*.

(* The memory of the flame-haired man still gets under Crowley’s skin like nothing else, often dispelled with long sessions of rougher-than-normal sex.

Somewhat to Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale never complains. He can almost swear that the Angel enjoys it, being held down and fucked possessively over and over until Crowley has wrung him dry.)

But such moments are fleeting. Seeing Aziraphale’s genuine misery at their prolonged separation, Crowley offers his arms for Aziraphale to settle in and his lips until Aziraphale is sufficiently melted with comfort.

What caused the rift between them in the first place continues to weigh heavy on Aziraphale’s thoughts as well. Although Crowley never explicitly brings up the holy water again, the slightest hint is enough to refresh Aziraphale’s worry.

There is guilt mixed in there, too, along with fear.

Crowley doesn’t address it. He has already planted the seed, his disappointment at Aziraphale refusing his only request; it’s up to Aziraphale now on how he wants to deal with that.

Instead, Crowley veers their conversations and meetings to things that are more of the norm for them. He is meeting Aziraphale step for step as they rebuild their relationship, and he has to admit it’s pleasant when the Angel starts looking serene in his arms again.

In time, Aziraphale appears to be putting the holy water debacle behind him. Crowley isn’t. He can’t. For all that he has assignments plenty and the world in general to distract him, not to mention his Angel to fuck and spend time with, he is perpetually aware of his need for insurance.

And it has been dawning on him that he needs it not only to face Hell should they ever deem that his relations with Aziraphale are more than carnal wickedness - but also for the Big One.

As the twentieth century nears its twilight decades, Crowley is growing more aware than ever of the end times looming ahead. For millennia, he hasn’t spared thought to Armageddon, but now, the Earth’s six thousand year expiry deadline is on its way.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. Crowley knows it shouldn’t; his fellow Demons have been working up to this since the Fall.

Only … Crowley has been thinking for some time now - he is no longer very fond of the idea of Earth’s imminent destruction.

He rather likes Earth, with all of its silly, brilliant humans and their fascinating inventions and harrowing disasters.

He likes the world. The world has Aziraphale in it.

And so it is that Crowley, in his spare moments, starts to hatch a plan. Clearly he’ll need to employ human help for the dirty work.

Though Crowley doesn’t tell Aziraphale about it, he doesn’t go out of his way to keep his little heist secret, either.

But still, Crowley isn’t really expecting Aziraphale to finally give in, after having held his ground for a quarter of a century.

Which leaves him gaping in genuine surprise when the Angel invites himself inside his car and holds out a tartan flask, grimly muttering,

‘The holiest.’

Because, even for a decision twenty-five years in the making, once Aziraphale commits to it, of course he goes all in.

The expression on his face when Crowley carefully takes the thermos is the look of a man who fears he’s just made the worst decision of his existence.

Crowley stares at him over the flask, caught somewhere between shocked and awestruck.

He’s not sure what to say, never having been on the receiving end in this sense before. ‘Should I say thank you?’ he tries.

It’s the wrong call. Aziraphale frowns, turning away to look through the windshield. ‘Better not. I don’t want your gratitude for providing the means to your end.’

And yet, Aziraphale has ultimately provided it, hasn’t he. He’s brought the holy water to Crowley, against his fears and misgivings, against everything that once led to their separation, because -

 _I can’t have you risking your life. Even for something dangerous_.

Crowley licks his lips slowly. It’s strange; there is that feeling again of owing something in return to Aziraphale, the way he sometimes feels when Aziraphale utters _those words_ -

 _Ah_.

Crowley hesitates. Perhaps this is what it all has been leading up to, the moment to finally say it.

‘I …’ Even from the first word, it sits oddly on his tongue. But there’s nothing else for it.

‘I love. You. Angel?’ Crowley offers awkwardly, almost a question.

If he’d made the wrong call before, then this is -

Aziraphale stiffens, staring straight ahead at the red light district for several nerve-wracking seconds. When he finally turns, Crowley is faced with fury, the likes of which he has never seen before, in Aziraphale’s eyes.

‘How dare you.’ His voice quiet. Shaking. ‘That is low, even for you.’

‘What?’ Crowley blinks twice in rapid succession, bewildered. ‘Angel, I - you … you’ve been -’

‘Yes, I’ve been saying it for the past twenty-six years. But I’m not an idiot, Crowley,’ Aziraphale snaps, his words echoing back to their nasty spat at St James.

‘I know that you - that Demons _don’t_ …’ Aziraphale trails off, his voice cracking, and this time, Crowley sees the glimmer of tears in his eyes. He breathes in. ‘All this time, I have never demanded that you say it back. I don’t expect you to say it back. But that doesn’t give you the right to make a mockery of _my_ feelings!’

Crowley falls silent for a long while, listening to Aziraphale’s shaky breathing.

‘If you knew that Demons can’t … why tell me in the first place?’ he asks quietly.

‘Because I want you to know.’ Aziraphale is avoiding his eyes. ‘I’d already swallowed my pride once and selfishly asked you to be mine. Back then, I didn’t even think you’d agree. But you did and, to an extent, you even committed to it.’

‘An extent?’ Crowley repeats. There is an ugly emotion curdling inside him.

‘Crowley.’ Aziraphale looks at him, his tone almost condescending now. ‘Of course, I knew better than to believe you were actually monogamous with me. At least, not at the start. But,’ Aziraphale clasps his hands together in his lap, looking down, ‘a few decades later, you were coming to me more and more often … and it gave me hope you’d started choosing me over human lovers.’

‘I did,’ Crowley blurts, without quite meaning to.

‘And so I know you feel some form of affection for me,’ Aziraphale continues, undeterred. ‘I’m not silly enough to pretend it’s the same thing I feel for you. But you’re fond of me and I’ve long learnt to be satisfied with what I can have.’

‘Angel…’

‘That’s why I tell you I love you. And that’s why I’ll smite you if you take me for a fool and feed me lies you think I want to hear.’ Aziraphale is glaring at him again, his eyes shimmering. ‘Give me what you can and want to, but stop offering words you don’t mean.’

The silence that follows Aziraphale’s emphatic statement is thick with tension. Crowley’s fingers are tight around the tartan flask in his lap, his thoughts whirling as he tries to process everything Aziraphale has thrown at him.

‘Very well,’ he says slowly. ‘The truth then.’

Crowley lifts the thermos gingerly. ‘It’s true this is just insurance. Not a suicide pill.’

Something flickers in Aziraphale’s expression as he looks up. Quiet and apprehensive, he waits.

‘It’s true I fucked around with humans after I agreed to be your lover,’ Crowley continues bluntly.

Aziraphale doesn’t look surprised, but Crowley catches the sad, downward turn to his mouth.

‘But it’s also true I stopped doing that eventually. I haven’t been with anyone else outside of jobs for a long time now.’

Crowley doesn’t see the point of telling Aziraphale about the man he’d picked up in 1882. Aziraphale had cheated on him then, after all. They’re even.

Instead, he focuses on the way Aziraphale is cautiously lighting up, a tinge of hesitation on his face that nevertheless doesn’t veil the startled happiness in his blue eyes.

Crowley sees it, and before he’s even realised it, he’s saying, ‘I like your company. I like talking with you. I like our arguments. I like it when you laugh at things I say.’

And well, he’s already spilt too much, what’s one more?

‘I have never wanted anyone the way I want you. Not since the Beginning.’

There, Crowley has sealed it. He waits for the shame, the vulnerability, but they never hit. Instead it’s just Aziraphale, watching him with shining eyes; the tears no longer look like heartbreak.

A soft hand fiddles with the cravat around his neck. ‘Have you,’ Aziraphale swallows, ‘have you really not been with humans? I mean, other than for work, I know that’s unavoidable -’

‘No, not in nearly three centuries.’ Crowley doesn’t admit he thinks about Aziraphale when he does fuck humans on assignment now. That’s a bit much, probably.

‘And you like being with me?’

Crowley thinks back on thousands of years of lusting after Aziraphale, and the hefty chunk of them he’d spent enjoying conversations and outings together while he waited.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re not going to destroy yourself with that water?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Well … that’s all right, then,’ Aziraphale mumbles, looking oddly flustered. He gives a small smile, smoothing down his cravat. ‘Best I can ask for, really.’

That gives Crowley pause. The best Aziraphale can ask for because … he knows that Crowley doesn’t, that he can’t -

‘Aziraphale … about what I said before, that I lo -’

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale says. ‘Don’t.’

‘Angel,’ Crowley presses on, spurred by an urgency he doesn’t fully understand. ‘I meant it that I like being with you. I just … I don’t know if that means I lov -’

‘Exactly, you don’t know,’ Aziraphale interrupts, his voice sharpening to steel again. ‘And yet you said it anyway. You always do this.’

Looking squarely at Crowley frozen in the driver’s seat, Aziraphale says, ‘You go too fast for me, Crowley. You say words and do things before your heart follows through with them.

‘I’m not blind. Perhaps it took me a while to realise but - right from the start, you offered me kindness and companionship. But it wasn’t because you liked me back me then, was it? Not in your heart. You just wanted …’ Aziraphale trails off, dropping his gaze to his lap again.

‘I consider myself blessed that your heart did eventually follow through with the friendship you gave me. And when I fell in love with you, I didn’t ask you to be mine until I was certain you felt some modicum of genuine affection for me.

‘But now, you’re … you’re doing it again, Crowley. You’re saying something that ought to carry more weight just because you assume I want to hear it.’

Aziraphale looks up, his eyes blazing. ‘Well, I don’t want it. I chose you and I’m staying with you, and you can keep your damned words unless you know you mean them. And maybe - maybe that will never happen. Maybe your heart can _never_ -’ Aziraphale inhales sharply, his voice breaking. ‘But if you … if you truly care enough to stay, then that’s … that’s enough.’

As the Angel’s voice peters out again, Crowley remains as he is, shaken as he ponders on Aziraphale’s words. It’s dawning on him that this whole exchange is the first time Aziraphale has spoken so deeply and frankly of his thoughts on their relationship.

Aziraphale had always left most of these between the lines. Crowley had assumed he was been reading the Angel correctly … but clearly he’s missed the mark. Colossally.

Aziraphale has been aware. And he still accepts this, him, Crowley.

Carefully, he removes his sunglasses. Along with the tartan flask, it joins his stockpile of backup glasses in the glove compartment.

Then, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes, ‘I am staying,’ Crowley says. ‘I’ve stayed for six thousand years, angel. And the reason I need the holy water is so I can keep staying.’

At long last, Aziraphale loses his battle. A tear, glinting like glass in the magenta lights, rolls down his cheek.

‘That’s enough, then,’ he whispers.

He allows it when Crowley leans forward, cupping Aziraphale’s face to kiss the delicate tear off his cheek. So many tears Crowley has kissed away before, but not like this; tonight, there is a weight to it that wasn’t there before.

More tears spill and Crowley kisses away each one, seasoning his lips with the salt of Aziraphale’s love as he listens to the Angel’s quiet breaths, feeling his gentle trembling under his fingertips.

A tear trails down the side of that button nose and Crowley tracks it to the corner of Aziraphale’s lips. He hesitates then, uncertain.

Aziraphale reads the unspoken question and replies with a soft exhale, tilting his face so that their mouths slot together in that familiar fit Crowley has come to know. He remains pliant for a while, letting Crowley kiss and part his lips and reminding Crowley of their first time when Aziraphale hadn’t known what to do but followed his lead so eagerly.

He lets Crowley pull him close, bridging the foot-long gap between them as they kiss, long and slow. Crowley rests his palm on the side of Aziraphale’s neck, pressing into the leap of his pulse under his thumb, and he kisses him as deeply as he dares in those fragile moments before pulling back.

With a soft sigh of protest, Aziraphale follows, chasing Crowley’s mouth. Their eyes meet and Crowley reads six thousand years in them before Aziraphale presses close again.

‘Aziraphale?’ Crowley asks softly when Aziraphale’s hands bunch in his velvet jacket, tugging in a manner all too familiar but that Crowley hasn’t been expecting tonight, here in his car.

‘You always do speak better when words aren’t involved,’ Aziraphale says between kisses to Crowley’s lips. ‘So, show me …’

‘Angel -’

‘Show me that you’re staying.’

Crowley’s hands settle on Aziraphale’s waist, the Angel pressed so close he’s nearly in Crowley’s lap. Meeting the shimmering blue eyes, for the very first time, Crowley asks,

‘Can I have you?’

Aziraphale chokes out a breathy chuckle. ‘Bit late to be asking. But yes. Always.’

Their lips meet again, with a great deal more ardour this time, and Aziraphale moans around Crowley’s tongue while his hands yank at the black jacket again. The cautious, deep care from before has evolved into fire and urgent passion, and their uncomfortable position - bodies twisted to the side to hold each other - comes into sharp focus.

‘Crowley, please,’ Aziraphale gasps, his words muffled into Crowley’s mouth.

With an impatient grunt, Crowley transports them to the backseat, which in reality isn’t much roomier, but Crowley _wants_ it and the Bentley immediately obeys. They leave their jackets behind on the driver’s seat during the shift, but they still have too many layers on, as evidenced by Aziraphale’s growl of frustration as his hands scrabble at Crowley’s turtleneck and the buttons of his trousers.

One thought and Crowley banishes Aziraphale’s clothes from below the waist, leaving the Angel’s lower body nude except for his tartan socks and garters - a fashion travesty Aziraphale stubbornly holds on to. Crowley likes them on him.

Aziraphale looks mildly annoyed at Crowley’s lack of undress. Before he can complain, Crowley manoeuvres him into bending over the backrest on his knees, his bare bottom jutting out wantonly.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale whispers, shuddering when Crowley digs his fingers into his plump cheeks to make him lean to the side, his arse angled towards the Demon’s face.

Aziraphale’s cock is hard and trapped between his belly and the backrest, leaving white streaks over the leather upholstery. Crowley sees it and doesn’t care; it feels right to have Aziraphale’s mark smeared over Crowley’s things, especially when Crowley plans to paint the Angel as his in the most intimate way.

Spreading Aziraphale’s arse, Crowley licks up a long wet stripe between his cheeks, a touch that already has the Angel keening. Dribbling his saliva through the warm cleft, Crowley repeats the movement again and again until Aziraphale is panting with anticipation; only then does he let his tongue linger on his rim, fluttering over the wrinkled muscle to tease it into submission.

Briefly, Crowley considers asking Aziraphale to swap efforts; a cunt needs much less prep and he is already straining in his trousers. But he likes doing this, and Aziraphale inordinately likes having this done to him, so Crowley buries his face in deeper, working his serpentine tongue inside the quivering hole which slowly, agonisingly, yields to him.

Making soft mewling sounds, Aziraphale rocks back on him, encouraging Crowley to fuck him. Crowley obliges, teasing and licking along his tight walls until he is pressing onto his prostate, making Aziraphale sob helplessly as he works his tongue on that sweet spot.

‘C-Crowley, Crowley,’ Aziraphale moans as the Demon twists in a finger alongside his tongue to fuck him open, ‘People! Oh, oh, p-people can - can see us.’

Crowley is vaguely surprised it has taken Aziraphale so long to realise. ‘Let them look,’ he grunts and spits on Aziraphale’s entrance, beginning to work in a second slick finger.

‘No, please, it’s indecent!’

Idly, Crowley wonders if they’ve ever done anything that could be considered decent in bed. But Aziraphale is squirming like he’s about to pull away, and Crowley snaps his fingers.

‘It’s fine, angel. They won’t remember seeing us,’ he promises before manhandling Aziraphale to straddle Crowley in the backseat.

He snaps off his trousers and immediately Aziraphale is sinking onto him, his pink lips parted on a low moan as he takes in Crowley’s cock all the way inside.

Crowley isn’t lying; he’s set off a miracle to ensure that no passerby will remember what they glimpse inside the Bentley as soon as they are gone - but, for the couple of seconds they are walking past, humans can see exactly what’s happening.

Crowley wants them to see; he wants them to see Aziraphale in his lap, being kissed, held and fucked to ecstasy.

He wants them all to know that this strong, lovely Angel in his arms is his and his alone.

No one else can have him. Not even Heaven.

Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s arse, spreading his cheeks to drive that indisputable truth even deeper into him.

‘Mine,’ he hisses when his black turtleneck is later splattered white with Aziraphale’s come, his own leaking out of the Angel’s hole stretched around Crowley’s cock.

‘Yours,’ Aziraphale agrees breathlessly, leaning bonelessly against Crowley, his face buried in his neck.

But then Aziraphale straightens, and winding his fingers through Crowley’s shaggy hair, enunciates clearly, ‘As you are mine.’

He kisses Crowley deeply, sinking his teeth into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

‘And don’t you forget it,’ Aziraphale says as he pulls away, licking red off his lips.

Taken aback for a few seconds, Crowley then chuckles, feeling something inside him softening. He looks up at the fierce Angel in his lap, not quite aware of the tenderness in his own eyes.

‘You have yourself a deal.’

‘Seal it then,’ Aziraphale whispers.

Crowley smiles into the kiss.

~***~

His insurance safely locked away and Aziraphale appeased in his arms, Crowley begins to work on a new plan, this time for the end times.

He’s not certain of the schedule, but Crowley estimates he has a few decades left at least.

It’s difficult to plan for something he doesn’t know the full details of. So far, Crowley has a vague idea about possibly influencing the Antichrist against inciting the Apocalypse, that is whenever the infernal child is delivered to Earth.

But he also figures it won’t work if the influencing is from his side alone. A Heavenly touch is needed to balance out the evil, which means Crowley needs to figure out how to bring up the topic with Aziraphale and convince him to Crowley’s side.

Crowley is not entirely sure where Aziraphale stands on Armageddon. However, he has barely started on ways to persuade Aziraphale when, one day in the late nineties, the Angel walks into Crowley’s flat.

‘I just had a meeting with Gabriel. He gave me a … head’s up,’ Aziraphale says the last two words with the mild disapproval he reserves for colloquial terms.

‘Bet I can give you a better head’s up,’ Crowley winks at him from the sofa, because he can never resist Aziraphale’s reactions to his innuendos.

Aziraphale doesn’t rise to the bait this time, however. Grim-faced, he says, ‘It’s Armageddon, Crowley. They’ve given me a ten-year notice.’

Crowley straightens up at once. ‘What?’

‘Heaven says they have received intelligence that the Antichrist will be delivered in ten years. And when he reaches the age of eleven, he will come into his powers and commence the end of the world.’

Crowley whistles under his breath, taking in the new information. Hell hasn’t informed him of this yet; a part of him vaguely muses that it’s still handsomely paying off to be in Aziraphale’s confidence.

Before he can offer anything though, Aziraphale says, ‘That gives us twenty-one years, Crowley. Only two decades more and … I don’t want it. I don’t want Armageddon to happen.’

The admission makes Crowley go still, his eyes widening. ‘Aziraphale?’

Slowly, Aziraphale approaches the sofa. He is wringing his hands together, but he doesn’t look away.

‘I don’t want Earth destroyed. It’s precious and its humans are precious, and it’s …’ He takes a deep breath. ‘This is the only place where we can be together.’

Crowley stares. He is on his feet then, pulling Aziraphale to him.

‘You been reading my mind, sweetheart?’ he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s middle.

‘So you agree?’ Aziraphale blinks.

‘I’ve been thinking about this for years now,’ Crowley admits. ‘I don’t much fancy the world ending, either.’

Meeting Aziraphale’s surprised gaze, Crowley smiles. ‘I told you before that I want to keep staying. Kinda need the world for that, don’t we?’

Breaking into a smile, Aziraphale leans up to kiss him. ‘Wily serpent,’ he chuckles, though he looks a little overwhelmed.

‘So, I’ve been thinking…’

Ten years later, after Crowley is handed the Antichrist in a creepy graveyard ceremony, he whirls into Aziraphale’s bookshop the next day.

‘It’s on, angel.’

~***~

It’s the wrong boy. They waste eleven fucking years on the wrong boy.

Crowley probably should’ve seen it coming, the absolute bungling of the Antichrist’s delivery by the fucking nuns.

No one of the cloth should be trusted no matter what direction they pray to, he thinks furiously to himself as they drive out of Tadfield, empty-handed and out of ideas.

Aziraphale has the audacity to call it _evil sowing the seeds of its own destruction_.

Crowley rolls his eyes. ‘For my money, it was just an ordinary cock-up,’ he mutters. ‘One that could cost us the world,’ he adds, frowning pointedly at Aziraphale.

‘I’m not the one who lost the boy,’ Aziraphale retorts primly, but the worry is setting in his eyes.

And they are right to be worried as Crowley finds out upon returning to London. After dropping off Aziraphale at the bookshop, where the Angel immediately disappears with the heavy tome left behind by that mad American woman, Crowley trudges home, his mind whirling on how they can possibly go on.

He’s nowhere close to answers when he receives unwelcome company the next day. Ever so luckily for Crowley, they ring ahead.

Frozen in the early morning half-light, Crowley stares at his expansive television screen on which Hastur and Ligur are bearing down on him with fury.

 _Traitor_ , they call him.

It’s the birthday party that gave him away. Of all the Demons, Dagon is one of the lesser idiots; of course, she’d sent minions to investigate after receiving Crowley’s call about the Hellhound. Of fucking course, she did.

Crowley stands in the middle of his study, exposed and cover blown on his insane plan to thwart Armageddon.

‘We’re coming for you, Crawly,’ Hastur snarls and the LCD screen goes black.

Crowley swallows, considering his options. He can run, but there is nowhere to go, really. And while he’s running, the real Antichrist is running amok somewhere out there and will ignite Armageddon.

He will end up destroyed anyway. The world will be gone. Aziraphale will be gone.

His thoughts whirling, Crowley runs to his safe. He sets everything up, and then he waits.

A small, foolish part of him hopes that Hastur and Ligur won’t turn up.

But no. Crowley ends up using his insurance, after all.

He is left shaking afterwards, his victory at getting rid of two Dukes overshadowed by the certainty that with this, all of Hell will be upon him now - if the world doesn’t end first.

But then his telephone, the one connected to his antique ansaphone, rings and for a joyous half hour, Crowley believes that things are finally falling into place.

‘I’ve figured it out!’ Aziraphale blurts the moment Crowley picks up. ‘I know where the Antichrist is!’

‘What?’ Crowley croaks, bracing himself upright on the table with his palm.

Aziraphale dissolves into a swift tirade, excitedly going on a tangent about the book the American woman had left in the Bentley. Crowley catches phrases like ‘book of prophecy’, ‘Holy Grail of all books’ and something about a nutter, but all in all, his thoughts are completely locked on the fact that his clever Angel has figured out the one thing that can save them.

‘Lower Tadfield!’ Aziraphale finishes his monologue with a flourish, sounding very proud of himself indeed.

Crowley has a moment where he wants to throw something at the realisation that they’ve been in the right place just the day before and still missed the Antichrist entirely. But then, of course, the boy has that defence shield thingy. Water sliding off ducks and all.

‘Brilliant, angel,’ says Crowley, feeling weak with relief. He deliberately avoids looking at the doorway to his study, at the _remains._ ‘Let’s go.’

‘Wait,’ Aziraphale says then, his voice calming at last. ‘I called you first, of course, but listen, Crowley. I’ve been thinking … perhaps I ought to inform Gabriel?’

‘What?’ Crowley straightens, eyes widening with disbelief.

‘I’ve been reporting to him on the situation for the past eleven years. Surely I can persuade him and the other Archangels to take care of the Antichrist and stop this war.’

‘They’ve been wanting this war for six thousand years, angel. Heaven and Hell both.’

‘But there need not be one,’ Aziraphale insists desperately.

Crowley tightens his grip on the receiver. ‘Aziraphale … do you remember Sodom and Gomorrah?’

At once, Aziraphale falls silent, his sharp exhale the only sound on the other end of the line.

‘Remember Pompeii? Egypt? The fucking _flood_ , Aziraphale. Have you forgotten?’

Aziraphale doesn’t reply, his breath shaking.

‘Do you think the same people that laid waste to entire populations for the sins of a few would listen to you, when they’ve been waiting for a chance to finish off all of the Fallen?’

‘Crowley…’ Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley hears his doubt in the cracking of his voice.

‘Angel, you once told me to tell you nothing but the truth. Tell me the truth now. Do you honestly believe Heaven wants to stop this war?’

His only response is silence.

‘Yeah. Didn't think so. I’m coming over to pick you up, angel. We’ll head to Tadfield and take care of the Antichrist together.’

‘All right,’ says Aziraphale shakily. ‘Perhaps we wouldn’t have to kill him. He could be reasoned with…?’ It comes out as a question.

‘Sure.’ Crowley can let Aziraphale cling on to that fantasy. He has to remind him, however, ‘But remember, Aziraphale. This is the Antichrist. One life - against all of humanity.’

‘Right,’ Aziraphale says very quietly.

‘The Antichrist or the Earth.’

‘Crowley -’

‘If the Earth is lost, I lose you.’ Crowley pauses meaningfully. ‘I can’t lose you, angel.’

He hears Aziraphale sigh. ‘My dear.’

He smiles, expression gentle though Aziraphale cannot see him. ‘I’m heading ove -‘

The phone line dies without warning. Blinking, Crowley lowers the receiver - and then he senses it.

The thing he has never imagined he would.

For two seconds, he is frozen. And then he’s running.

Crowley breaks every speed limit ten times over in his mad dash to Aziraphale’s, the Bentley’s wheels kicking up flames on the asphalt while humans throw themselves out of his way, saved only by a miracle Crowley is hardly aware of using.

He registers none of it, nothing but the endless mantra of _no, no, no, it can’t be, no, no, angel,_ in his mind.

When he skids to a reckless stop, the bookshop is still standing, tall and antique-looking as ever, but when Crowley kicks his way inside -

Nothing.

Literally _nothing_.

That glowing thread of ethereal energy he has felt within his metaphysical essence, connecting him to Aziraphale since the very Beginning, is … gone.

He tries to search, tearing through the shop and the backroom, but there is no point, no point at all, because he can already feel the irrevocable truth of it and looking with human eyes won’t change anything.

‘You’ve gone,’ Crowley whispers, his frantic steps finally stopping in the middle of the silent shop. His knees give out beneath him.

And, for the first time in all of his six thousand years on Earth, Crowley knows what it is like to be really and truly alone.

‘Somebody killed my love.’

~***~

It’s a cruel thing, memory, the way it dredges up things one hasn’t thought about in years. Or in Crowley’s case, millennia.

Drink doesn’t block it out, either. Crowley isn’t sure how long he’s been in the bar, ordering top-shelf whiskey and scotch. More than a day, he thinks. Maybe more*. He’s not sure. He’s trying to drown himself but not even alcohol can wash away memories.

(* The humans didn’t notice the miserable dark-clad flash bastard slumped over the table when they locked up the night before, and they didn’t notice when they opened the bar late this morning.)

Aziraphale is the first one Crowley has ever heard speak of loneliness. He remembers vividly what the Angel had said in the Garden, so very long ago.

Back then, it had merely been a tidbit of information for Crowley.

Now, he feels it in the deepest recesses of his blackened soul.

Armageddon is on its way, drawing closer every hour Crowley spends in this place getting sloshed, but he cannot find it in himself to care anymore. As he laments his loss at no one and everyone, it dawns on him that what he’d told Aziraphale right before he was taken from him is truer than he’d initially given thought to.

_If the Earth is lost, I lose you. I can’t lose you, angel._

Crowley swallows, his fingers tight around the neck of the whiskey bottle. He’s lost his Angel first. It matters nothing if Earth is lost now too. He yells at the bartender to bring him another bottle.

He is so gone on his drink that for nearly five minutes after the fact, he doesn’t even register the reappearance of that ethereal thread of energy, glowing upon his metaphysical radar once more.

Crowley only notices anything beyond the drink he is knocking back when the door to the bar opens and that celestial aura, infinitely stronger now in proximity, punches right through the haze of inebriety into his consciousness.

Crowley nearly drops the bottle, his eyes widening behind his glasses. ‘Aziraphale…?’

It is him, without a doubt, frumpy and buttoned up as he walks inside, those blue eyes Crowley will know anywhere searching around the room until they land on the Demon.

Aziraphale hurries forward but he has barely taken three steps before Crowley is out of his chair, paying mind to nothing and no one else as he makes for the Angel. Crowley grabs Aziraphale around the middle, and his breath immediately escapes in a relieved gasp as he _feels_ him, solid and _real_ under his hands.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale begins, his voice both surprised and urgent.

But he doesn’t get anything more out then, his lips sealed in a desperate kiss as Crowley unceremoniously presses him up against the bar, almost knocking over a row of shot glasses.

Distantly, Crowley is aware of hoots and whistles all around them and a bark of annoyance from the bartender, but none of that matters right now. All of his focus is converged on the Angel in his arms, the sheer warmth and familiarity of his lips and chest pressed to Crowley’s, his soft hands on Crowley’s shoulders, and the inevitable squirm of embarrassment as Crowley continues to kiss him senseless against the bar, unheeding of the increasingly loud reactions around them.

‘Mate, there’s a motel across the street!’ Someone yells, snickering.

Aziraphale makes a soft, distressed sound, his hands pushing at Crowley’s shoulders now. At last, Crowley relinquishes him, breaking off the kiss but not removing his hands from Aziraphale.

‘My dear,’ Aziraphale mumbles, his cheeks red. He glances over Crowley’s shoulder and blushes harder. ‘The people are -’

Crowley barely has to think to snap his fingers, sending the humans back to their drinks and conversations, promptly forgetting the borderline indecent display they just witnessed.

‘You’re here,’ Crowley rasps, unable to take his eyes off Aziraphale.

‘I’m here.’ Aziraphale smiles at him then, gentle and comforting.

‘I thought you were gone.'

‘I was. They took me back to Heaven.’

‘I thought they’d killed you.’

‘I’m afraid they might want to.’

Crowley cannot stop asking questions, one tumbling over the other, and Aziraphale runs his palms over Crowley’s arms, trying to soothe him as he persuades the Demon back into his seat. Pulling up another chair at the table, Aziraphale gives Crowley a pointed look, refusing to explain until the Demon has sobered up. Crowley dispels all the alcohol in his system so swiftly he feels nearly disoriented with it, blinking and grimacing at the taste left in his mouth.

‘Right, what the fuck happened?’

Aziraphale furrows his brows. ‘The Archangels. They … accosted me in the bookshop, recalling me immediately to Heaven. They … they found out, Crowley.’

‘Found out?’ Crowley repeats dumbly.

‘About us,’ says Aziraphale quietly. ‘And our plan about Armageddon.’

‘How?’ Crowley demands.

‘I don’t know. But they had photographs. Of us together, on the Earth Observation Files. I…’ Aziraphale begins to frown. ‘Some of them were quite old, from several years ago, but if they’re only now confronting me about them, it should mean they weren’t aware of us at all before. How did they think to look now-?’

Abruptly, Crowley remembers the time Hell summoned and confronted him about Aziraphale centuries ago, revealing they’d been deploying Demons to keep an eye on infernal field agent movements. It seems likely, he thinks, that Heaven has been operating their observation files for just as long, if not longer.

But the only reason Heaven has caught Aziraphale now, so soon after Hastur and Ligur caught onto Crowley…

Before Crowley can blurt his inferred conclusion, Aziraphale beats him to it.

‘They found out I was involved with you and trying to thwart Armageddon as well. Then they told me I wouldn’t get any special treatment in Hell with you …’ Aziraphale frowns. ‘I rather got the impression that Heaven and Hell have been in contact with each other. About this, at least.’

‘Yep,’ says Crowley flatly, not wholly surprised at the notion that their respective head offices haveprobably been communicating through back channels. He can’t be the only Demon who’s thought of keeping an Angel around for information, after all.

Pushing away the thought, Crowley says grimly, ‘’S’like I said, angel, they want their war. Both of them.’

‘They called me a traitor,’ says Aziraphale in a low voice. ‘They said I was conspiring with you. And when I told them I knew where the real Antichrist was and begged them to stop the war, they accused me of trying to interfere with the Great Plan.’

Crowley winces, not fancying the idea of being at the mercy of furious Archangels. ‘You all right, angel?’ He covers Aziraphale hand with his. ‘How did you get away?’

‘I was given a choice. They would imprison me until Armageddon was over and then try me for treason, or I could redeem myself and restore my honour by leading my platoon and fighting in the War -’

‘You have a platoon?’ Crowley blurts, jaw slackening.

Aziraphale gives him a mildly exasperated look. ‘I _was_ the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, my dear, what kind of Angel did you think I was? In any case, it was my only chance - I told them I would fight and as soon as I was handed over to the quartermaster today, I escaped and fled back down here.’

Crowley’s face splits in a broad grin. ‘Well, aren’t you a ferocious little warrior,’ he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale pulls away. ‘Later, darling, that’s all the time we have for explanations. We’ll talk more after, but we really must get to Tadfield if we’re to stop Armageddon in time -’ And then Aziraphale pauses, his bright eyes fixing on Crowley.

‘Why didn’t you go, Crowley? To Tadfield, all this time? I’d already told you that was where the Anti -’

‘Stuff happened,’ Crowley mutters. He gives a half-hearted shrug. ‘I’d lost my love.’

For an endless moment, Aziraphale just stares at him, his blue eyes unreadable. Crowley gazes back, feeling split open in a way he’d only felt in the silence of Aziraphale’s bookshop.

‘I’m so sorry to hear it,’ Aziraphale says at last, dropping his gaze. He stands up, tugging on Crowley’s wrist to follow him. ‘We really must get a wiggle on, we have the end of the world to stop.’

When they step outside the bar, Aziraphale turns to him and, without warning, unfurls his majestic white wings.

Crowley starts, gaping at the pristine plumage he hasn’t seen in possibly ten centuries.

‘It’d be too slow to drive there and miracling ourselves over will expend much energy we might need to face the Antichrist,’ Aziraphale explains urgently, seemingly oblivious to the gasps and stares he’s drawing from shocked humans all around them. ‘But if we fly, we might make it in time.’

‘Angel,’ says Crowley, very uncomfortably aware of the hesitant crowd forming around them. Aziraphale hasn’t spared them a glance. ‘We’ll be, fuck, we’re _being_ seen.’

‘If the world ends, it won’t matter,’ says Aziraphale quietly.

Crowley’s mouth tightens in a grim line. Wordlessly, he manifests his wings, enjoying the stretch of stiff tendons as his black feathers caress Aziraphale’s white ones.

The reactions of the humans around them are loud, but Crowley looks at no one but Aziraphale, reaching for his hand.

Together, they take to the skies.

~***~

When all is said and done, the last thing Crowley had ever expected is to discover that the Antichrist, half of Earth and half of Hell, cannot be further from his infernal father if anyone had tried.

It turns out that Aziraphale is right. Adam Young is more than amenable to being reasoned with - in fact, with the support of his tiny friends at his back, he is not so much reasoned with as he is _the_ voice of reason amongst all of them.

Crowley watches with awe, disbelief and the blossoming of genuine respect as this boy, eleven years of age and human incarnate, stands against an Archangel of Heaven and a Prince of Hell, before he sends his father, Satan himself, back into the bowels.

This young little thing with powers more cosmic than that of Angels and Demons combined chooses the world and humanity - but it is not until afterwards, when Adam Young looks directly at Crowley and, with that single glance, _knows_ him, knows every single nook and cranny within Crowley, that he truly feels frightened.

Adam Young looks at Crowley and knows everything - know who he is and what he has done, knows every thought to have crossed his mind and every secret Crowley has hidden in the depths of his black heart.

And Crowley has never known such terror before.

Then the boy is looking with his young-old eyes at Aziraphale, who has taken to fussing over the children, Book Girl and her Nerdy Boyfriend in the wake of Lucifer’s reckoning - and then Adam Young _knows_ Aziraphale, too.

He turns back to Crowley. ‘You’ve done some really twisted things, haven’t you,’ he says, and his voice is a juxtaposition of the innocent and the world-weary.

‘Like, it’s wrong, what you did to him. But now,’ Adam tilts his head, giving him the puzzled look of his excitable little Hellhound, ’under all that, you really do lo -’

‘Demons can’t,’ Crowley interrupts, his response leaving automatically before he’s even really processed it.

‘Can’t they?’ Adam’s expression is both curious and amused, in a way that doesn’t belong on a child’s face. He glances at the Angel again.

‘It shouldn’t work, this thing between you two. And yet, somehow, it does. _He_ does.’ Adam pauses, turning his all-knowing eyes on Crowley again. ‘You should do right by him. You can. You will.’

Crowley doesn’t know how to reply to that, but he’s not given a chance to.

‘Don’t worry about Heaven and Hell. You will be protected. Both of you,’ Adam tells him. He leaves, walking over to his friends and his berating Earthly father.

Crowley only relaxes when Aziraphale finally returns to his side, having finished his fussing over the humans.

‘Well,’ the Angel murmurs, ‘this all turned out a jolly sight better than expected, didn’t it. Imagine what might have happened if we’d been the least bit competent.’

Snorting, Crowley turns to Aziraphale, his lips curving in a genuine smile. He draws the Angel close, inhaling deeply as he buries his face in his neck.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Aziraphale strokes his back, his palm tracing Crowley’s spine in a manner that makes him melt against the Angel.

‘You’re here,’ says Crowley simply.

‘As are you,’ Aziraphale returns and Crowley can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Are you ready to go back?’

‘Can’t wait,’ Crowley mumbles, nuzzling at Aziraphale’s neck before he begins to steal kisses. ‘Just you wait until we’re back in London. You will never be rid of me from now on …’

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale chuckles under the onslaught of kisses.

‘Gonna fuck you for days to celebrate, angel. ’M gonna make you forget your own name -’

‘Darling, please, not in front of the children,’ Aziraphale chides, even though Crowley has long made sure that none of the humans is looking their way. Aziraphale and his concern with public decency, honestly.

Warm, strong arms wrap around him. ‘Let’s go home, my love.’

Crowley pulls back to kiss Aziraphale on the lips. He is home, he thinks mildly.

~***~

Years later, they stand side-by-side in the surf, smiling as playful waves swirl around their bare ankles.

Aziraphale leans against Crowley’s side, sighing with contentment. Crowley snakes his arm around his waist, an old familiar reflex by now.

When their eyes meet, idle and simply present in the moment, Aziraphale doesn’t tell Crowley, ‘I love you’, this time.

Neither does he ask, ‘Do you love me?’

He never has.

Instead, Aziraphale says, soft and honest, ‘Are you happy?’

Crowley gazes at him for a long moment, at the eyes bluer than the ocean stretching out ahead of them, and the hair more blinding than the white sands crunching between their toes. Behind them, the long stretch of beach gives way to a rising hill of swaying grass, and a little way beyond that lies a seaside cottage, lovely and quiet, with room enough for two.

The key to the cottage weighs down Crowley’s pocket.

He imagines, then, the days that lie ahead. Days of Aziraphale puttering about the sizeable library he has set up in the largest rooms; days of himself terrorising the garden he has made in the backyard into submission.

Crowley thinks about the quaint eateries in the surrounding towns waiting to be sampled, and country roads that need testing under the wheels of his Bentley.

He thinks about wiling every now and then among the humans just for the hell of it, and Aziraphale berating him when he catches Crowley in the act; never mind that the Angel blesses the heavens out of every town they pass through.

He envisions an eternity spent together, eating and drinking, arguing and laughing, exploring and fucking. In this world that’s so big that there is still more to explore. Right here on this beach which is more than enough for two.

And he realises then that he’s envisioning a life - and it’s one of the better things his imagination has supplied him with, Crowley supposes.

With a wave of his hand, Crowley brings over a pomegranate from one of the bountiful trees he has growing in his garden. Their garden. Halving the fruit, he picks a few arils and presses them into Aziraphale’s mouth.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs, sighing as Aziraphale closes his eyes and sucks the sweet juice off Crowley’s fingers. At the touch of Aziraphale’s tongue to his skin, he feels the age-old hunger gnawing at him. Six thousand years and he still hasn’t had his fill of this, his Angel.

’I am … Are you?’

‘With you?’ Aziraphale tilts his face up so that Crowley can sample the pomegranate juice straight from his lips.

‘Always.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends this study in ‘how many sex scenes can Arvy get away with and still call it “telling a story” while making her readers vaguely uncomfortable’ XD 
> 
> All right, y’all, strap in bc I have a ton of notes, bear with me:
> 
> 1\. Here we have it, the ‘happy ending in a sense’. So yes, Crowley and Aziraphale are together and they have what you could call an understanding/affection/happiness between them - _but_ it doesn’t really negate any of the twisted things that Crowley did before, leading them to this point. 
> 
> 2\. No, I didn’t give Crowley a full ‘redemption arc’, not here at least. His feelings/treatment of Aziraphale took a turn for the better, yes - but being what and how he is, I don’t see Crowley feeling particularly guilty over his earlier manipulations. Perhaps he’s vaguely aware that it was wrong - but he’d wanted Aziraphale, and he did what he knew to do to have him. And while his misguided possessiveness drove him to make Aziraphale dependent on him, as far as Crowley is concerned, ultimately Aziraphale fell in love and chose him of his free will.
> 
> 3\. In the race to thwart Armageddon, I focussed only on scenes I imagined would pan out differently from the book/series. In this verse, things are wayyy more anticlimactic bc Aziraphale has chosen Crowley long ago, his allegiance to Heaven is super weak, and he is already against Armageddon since he wants to keep being with Crowley. 
> 
> Which means Aziraphale immediately tells Crowley after he figures out where Adam Young is, leading to a different series of events where the stand-off with Shadwell never takes place. As a result, the bookshop doesn’t burn, and if that’s case, I decided the Bentley ain’t burning either. 
> 
> So Shadwell/Madame Tracy don’t turn up at the airbase since they’re not needed here. But some things remain the same - Anathema and Newt’s roles, and the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale are mostly useless while Adam Young and The Them defeat Satan and the Horsepersons. (Aziraphale does contribute his smart take on the ‘ineffable plan’ with Crowley chiming in tho)
> 
> I always knew the Apocalypse wouldn’t be so dramatic on Crowley/Aziraphale’s end here, plus the focus of this story was never meant to be on that. I made some rough decisions on what scenes made the cut. I hope it worked out??? 
> 
> 4\. No face-swap either bc I went with the novel’s ending where Adam promises they will be safe from Heaven and Hell. (Plus I don’t think Agnes Nutter would care for Crowley; she’d probably take one prophetic look at him, declare ‘What a Kunte!’, and decide it best if Crowley drowned in holy water heh)
> 
> 5\. Most importantly, this chapter gives a glimpse to Aziraphale’s thoughts/stance on his relationship with Crowley, but if you want a deeper perspective - **would any of y’all be interested in a ~~hopefully~~ one-shot side-fic from Aziraphale’s POV?** Mind you, my only reason for writing one is bc I have the perfect title for it lmao
> 
>  **BUT** before that, I am way more curious to know how you guys interpreted their torrid affair/relationship.  
> How do you think Crowley feels about Aziraphale, and vice versa? Do you think there is actual love between them? Was there any scene in particular that stood out for you? Which of Crowley’s (or Aziraphale’s) actions did you find most perturbing (or perhaps heartening)? What do you think things will be like for them here onwards?
> 
> Gosh I’m making it sound like English essay questions haha but I’m genuinely interested in your thoughts and theories, if you’d like to share <3  
> Feel free to send me questions as well, if you want to discuss this dark little tale more.  
> You can also reach me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you to everyone that checked out this fic, left a kudos or commented! I didn't expect my first dark!Crowley fic to get the amount of support it did. Thank you, all of you <3 <3 <3
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics (where Crowley is a bona fide sweetheart to Aziraphale) [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


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